I like this poem, I can’t remember exactly where it came from. But it is evocative, it conjures up, dreamlike, memories of childhood, and its paths and quests. The illusionary value of the Netflix universe, that we perhaps sell to children as a gospel. And that we neglect the deeper things. In the last line, it was painted on the walls, was a reference to my mum and dad’s artwork on the walls of our family home, and there in, the hope.
More, Different, Better
I thought myself forgotten,
As dusty rays.
Pale green filters of somehow hampered perception.
Childhood visions of past.
Things past, of forgotten things.
The human experience unbounded.
Thought, given to a child’s mind.
Unencumbered by new worlds impediments,
Structures, systems, (maybe, shallow and base).
More than imagination.
The deepest oldest thing.
To describe it-
Something like a connection to God.
A bandwidth that,
To my child’s eyes was not discussed.
Maybe it was painted on the walls.
25th aug ‘19
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