Out of Exile: Breathing New Life Into Old Words

     I pulled the scrappy draft of this poem out of exile recently.  It was tucked away in an old photo album from a lifetime ago.  Our children helped me take and choose some photos of different antiques around our home to add to my poetry.  They have been having as much fun with photography as I am having breathing life back into old words.

     Antiques remind me of people.  Both have acquired their share of battle scars along the way.  Some are beaten in roughly from neglect or abuse, while other marks leave tactile etchings of life and the seasoned maturity we define as character.   Their flaws and grooves ask you to cherish and love them smoother with patience.  Much like seasoned hearts, they reach out for a new safe harbor,  a place they are once again at home in. 



OUT OF EXILE

How did it become so floydian,
Desperately scratching surfaces
Of antique, hollow spaces
Housed within safety-wired shells?

What began the narrow defining
Of weary travellers and trains
Bouncing off collected scraps
Of impenetrable armor?

When will the viewing of
Scarlet trails be made clear
Through shards of salty glass
Relinquished fearfully into steel vices?

Why spark the embarkation
From the confines of squared matrixes
Only to drag affectionate fraility
Around silent bulwarks of a labyrinth?

~Shaunda Eck~