Bubbles

Bubbles

By willjxn

Dedicated to Dakota Jackson

In memories of childhood

Cross fields of yesterday.

Running barefoot,  fresh cut grass,

As bubbles trail away.

In my hand, I hold the wand.  

Wondrous globes I make.

Each it’s own unique round size,

Each the soft breeze take.

How much like my memories,

In fragile moments caught.

Each perfect sphere is formed by me.

In space expanded thought.

Foolish would my efforts be,

To try and change each sphere.

What would really come of this?

Futility I fear.

Floating on the breeze of life,

Memory takes its form.

One, a time of clarity,

One remembered storm.

If I could make each bubble grow,

From memories gone right.

And pop away each painful one,

Diminish them from sight.

Would I be a better man,

To be right all the while?

Would perfect bubbles carry me,

To heaven single file?

You can see the truth through it,

Clear memories not set.

Fragile as transparent walls

Popped bubbles, we forget.

Bubbles in variety,

Memories in kind.

Do not follow single file,

Randomness they find.

Better to accept the truth,

Painful, bitter, sweet.

All makeup reality,

So ourselves we meet.

Floating on the breeze of life,

Memories grand and small.

Floating on the breeze of life,

There’s wisdom in them all.