Posted on Sunday, March 22, 2009


Tremors that radiate
from restless tectonic plates
waking me up during the dead of night
waiting for the darkness to give back my sight
like a frightened child I search for the light

the ground moans
like old arthritic bones
threatening to dismantle our homes
tremors that leave fractures fifteen kilometers deep
tremors that rouse me from my deepest sleep

I imagine what it would look like if it all came crashing down
all that is tangible
now a mess on the ground
all the material things reduced to dust
the rubble ruins of material lust

I wonder what I would miss the most
as I visualise the wreckage of my home
scattered possessions of what I have known
clothes and shoes and books and gold
all these things that you can touch and hold
are merely things that have been bought and sold

tremors that resound into my core
reminding me that there is something more
more than this material bore

the things we keep
end up keeping us
from feeling
something more

2 Response to " "

Anonymous Says:

Ahhhhh, Jules, you summed it up beautifully... simplicity. Those possessional memoirs that can take us further away from the core... ourselves x

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