Photographer Ilse Bing — Poster, Henry VIII, 1934
Needle & Thread
The Glue That Binds Us
Charred sentiment dispensed
The remains of our days,
Spent: cleaved away
As leaves torn of paper.
Distant memories engaged
The feeble free fall
End over end;
Tumbled as pigeons
Latched together
With arms open.
We headed towards
Eliot’s perpetual April;
Never gave thought
To the tire of love.
Youth’s newness: blind elation
Staved off the wolves of reality.
Salt of the earth
Took leave, our loss;
We pushed the pieces forward.
Soiled uniforms
Dressed in suits of grace,
Cumbersome and too large,
We traced our paths
Again and again;
With dogged determination
We dragged ourselves
Through foot worn ruts.
In the end, we realized
There would be no phoenix
To rise from the ash.
“It may have been in pieces, but I gave you the best of me.”
― Jim Morrison
Hindi Zahra – “At The Same Time” Transformation
