I find myself more drawn to the past

than I have found myself in decades.

The rose coloured telescope pinpointing with

alarming accuracy what I already knew

but was too deaf, to blind and stupid

to understand what could have been

if I’d had the courage to stay and not move

on once more.

 

The past, the illusion of fine weather days,

of fresh country air filling my lungs

and cleansing the stuffy headed inoculation

first given to me in a needle fit to burst

with insincerity and what seemed eternal damnation,

I know,

I realise,

I reacquaint myself with and shake the hand of

understanding is no different

to the magic I felt upon crossing an ocean,

with a view to never returning,

the comprehension crushes me and I lay with my hands in the air,

but not ready yet to quit dreaming.

 

The rose coloured telescope,

monocular, safe as long as you keep

the other eye open,

shows the way not taken

and the possible pain

unseen.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015