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The Persistence of Memory

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1 The Persistence of Memory on Fri Jun 01, 2012 7:26 am

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Persistence_of_Memory.jpg

I saw you in my dreams, an old man, phied away by too many nights of wine women and song, the arms that once could hold so close now willowy and meek, watery eyes showing the sadness of lost chances,the pain of broken dreams and lives, perhaps the old gypsy hag was right, when you were still handsome and twenty and three, calling you the spawn of darkness, refusing you the entrance of her sacred space, She must've been and old soul seeing the destruction in your eyes, eyes now only sad and but a reminiscence of the stark grey piercing weapons you abused so many times in those troubled years. With one piercing look they could crush a gentle soul, make them quiver in fear, those eyes that targeted the blonde and voluptuous prey, to prowl and trap, to feed on, then walking away leaving the scraps for the other back streets junk yard dogs to devour. Never thinking you would become the scraps of the she-devil, never thinking that even you, with all your power can be broken, You sitting there now, lost in the dilapidated pieces of your castle of live,.. begging without saying a word, your mouth drawn in a bitter anger, the same lips that once dripped of honey and promises, the mouth that made the sun rise with but one smile, now nitre stained by bitter mutterings of defeat. Your shoulders, bony and and narrow, hunched to protect the space your heart once stayed in. Paths chosen and travelled cannot be untravelled once you disappeared behind the turn, leaving dusty sure footed prints on the mirages of the desolate prairies.
I could paint you in greys and watery murky blues on the canvas of Dali's clocks,placing your broken wooden chair by the cliff under the dying bush, there where the un-waking watch of time lies draped over the grey. I always begged to do a portrait of you, naked, spent, lying there as persistent memory tried to hold on to your slow smile,. now I see you painted by your own hand in my dream, naked stripped of all that use to be, only your taut skin pulled over the frail frame of once the great,........naked non the less and spent finally of all> The body still holding on long after the spirit died in the brutal war of self destruct

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