In the Architecturally Fashioned Memory of Modern Made Man

 

I am of an age that is ageless,

The very essence that lingers somewhere

Between shadow and light;

That indescribable grey matter separating

All that aligns itself with black

From all that derives its purity from white.

 

I am the illusive thread

Which ties the journey together,

Twisting and twirllings of threads

Weaving together past, present and, as yet,

Briefly imagined future.

 

I am the force between that barely dreamt dream

Of what will be and that longing, lodged firm in the memory,

That leaves logic out to recall that single

Moment of magic from that day, long ago lived.

 

That room in the mind that holds so tightly

To that taste once passed over lips, ripe for the tasting,

I am the emphasis of purity in the remembrance of that very taste.

All else, long since, fallen by the wayside

Or lost out amid the uncertainty of what is remembered

And what was real.

 

I am the playfulness of the light

You see cast bright on your sky high towers

With their windows onto the world.

I am the linear contrast of urban lines,

Rising sharp and structured amid the chaos.

I am the smooth sleekness

Untwining myself from a frivolous mess.

I am the seduction salvaged from the superfluous.

I am the impression left on the skin long after I’ve parted,

The mark of what once was, what is and what will be.

 

I am what makes the melancholy magical,

Every mood a melody;

The manufacturer of the moments

The mind will muster.

 

I am the lines that will lead you on,

Latitudes to rise upon and longitudes to fill your form.

I am a city seen from above

With straights of sky-scraping streets;

Lean lines, lengthy and lasting,

Marching triumphantly forwards as if to herald mans rise

Out of confusing chaos and stake his claim to stand above,

Alone, assured and reassured,

Calm and confident,

Always exceptional, occasionally eccentric,

Uniquely independent and always individual.

Modern man made in a blend

Of what is both memory and what has yet to be.

 

I am everything you put on to be who you are.

Yesterday you dreamt of me,

Tomorrow you’ll remember me,

Today, you are me.

 

Published by deuxiemepeau

Published poet, writer, baker and former fashion maker, with footprints in Paris, London and Amsterdam but currently back home in Dublin with sights aimed at leaving a mark on the West coast one clear fine day...

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