Child playing in a sandbox

sandbox

Knowledge, like the universe, gradually unfurls,
revealing new stars, constellations more
exquisite than a Rodin curve.

Soon though, there will be no secrets,
only the memory of discovery.
It’s like the first delicate stripping
of lace from a slender limb;
followed then by the smell of absence,
like dust falling through the air,
a temporary drifting; knowing
that all dreams rust with age
as they lie asleep in the
promise of being.

7 comments

  1. Hi Douglaus

    Soon though, there will be no secrets,
    only the memory of discovery.
    It’s like the first delicate stripping
    of lace from a slender limb;
    followed then by the smell of absence,
    like dust falling through the air,
    a temporary drifting; knowing
    that all dreams rust with age
    as they lie asleep in the
    promise of being.

    This reads like a sculpted poetry , so beautifully crafted to express the process of childhood and its passing face. Love the idea of discovery being stripped away to dust falling through the air, much like the scoped sand falling into the box, the essence of child’s imagination/soul falling out of magic’s grass back to the earth.

    Lovely work!
    much enjoyed,
    Wendy

    Like

  2. Douglas,

    These few lines capture the cosmos, from sand bucket to super nova.
    May the age of discovery be outlasted only by the age of innocence.

    What power you pack in the lines of this poem. It takes me back to the day I cried
    because my son had ‘graduated’ to hard sole shoes. All growth is painful, but the loss
    of dreams is unbearable.

    And here we are, at the cusp of the rust, but not there yet! Grandchildren and poetry,
    and the poets, keep us from it.

    You have wound me round and round with this poem.

    Sarah

    Like

  3. Hi, Bongler. So many of us write free verse now, it’s nice to read a poem with a stricter attention to formal patterns and rhyme, even if it, too, is free verse.

    Just love the rhyme of “unfurled” and “curves,” and the line itself, “exquisite than a Rodin curve,” is, well, exquisite.

    MSS

    Like

  4. I enjoyed time with your work this evening, Douglas. I read it twice. I wanted to reach in the image and lift the shovel to watch the sand raining down. My mind moved to grains shifting in the hourglass, too. Enjoyed this immensely.
    J

    Like

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