HANDMADE

There was something old as time that called me to the thread,

spinning memories with each pass across colors both alive and dead.

Things long forgotten rose up and sat lightly on my mind,

while friends and foes danced at my side.

I was connected, as if someone was thinking of me.

talking to no one, invisible air waves, devoid of time I passed messages.

were there older lives that I had lived but could not recall?

rich in thoughts, a peacefulness slowly set in beside me,

just as the sun shed it's crimson violet light behind me.

What great adventures I must have traveled in those times,

famous places, great spaces unique to mankind.

remnants of them sometimes drifted through my mind.

now I know I have lived at least nine lives.

who would you be if you could live again?

Picasso, Cleopatra, or Valentino, a romantic hero

I think I will choose something completely new,

maybe Vivaldi so I could live musically,

boldly painting the beauty of the world with sound.

In this way my life is handmade,

each day I start, gathering all of my old lives, 

again and again reconfiguring

into something new.