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The Sunday Whirl presents twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.
This weeks words are:
habit, flash, dreams, twist, shakes, rain, scars, knitted, glass, secret, pages, huddle
The Library of Forgotten Dreams.
Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die,
life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.
-- Langston Hughes
The binding is hardened, the pages dusty.
Brown, brittle, they smell old.
The writing is ornate, with curlicue flourishes.
The pages hold stories from long ago,
Dreams, as old and as dusty as the book,
Fill the pages, secrets held by the past.
Scars too, and habits begun and dropped;
Twists of life from long ago.
Sometimes a smell or a particular tune
Will trigger a flash of recollection.
The author, not a particularly apt term
For an unaware contributor to this volume,
Will huddle over the pages. Searching.
Searching with a concerned look
And knitted brow, they shake their head:
Did this really happen? Did I do this?
Like rain on a glass pane,
The past is mottled and blurred
And just a little bit unbelievable.
◊
Do forgotten dreams still hold power, or are they just remnants of who we used to be? This question lingers in the air like the dust settling on the pages of your poems. When I read this poem, it felt like an intimate dialogue with time itself - a conversation filled with the hopes that once burned brightly, the habits that shaped me, and the scars I left behind, each one a testament to the battles I fought and the lessons I carried forward.
ReplyDeleteDreams, even when forgotten, shape us in ways we may not always recognise. They whisper through the choices we make, the emotions we carry, the unexplainable longings that surface when a familiar scent or melody stirs something deep within us. They may no longer be as vivid as they once were, but they are never truly lost. They live in the quiet spaces of our hearts, influencing who we become, even if we don’t always remember their origins.
“Did this really happen? Did I do this?” - Perhaps the library of forgotten dreams is not a graveyard, but a sacred archive - a place where our past selves live on, waiting for us to turn the pages, to remember, to reclaim, or simply to honour what once was.
And perhaps, in that quiet act of remembrance, we breathe new life into them once more. Enjoyed reading! Thank you!