Beyond Sight

This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.

Not placed with care
on well-lighted shelves
the discarded memories
of moments once witnessed
instead pace their cells
trapped behind locked doors
for which keys were never cut.

They scream to remind me
that they remember all
of what my eyes have seen.
And that I do not.
When I go to find them
they reach through their cages
and wave their fingers toward me
as if I could see the impossible.

Beyond view, out
of sight.

Metamorphosis. 
One grows metal fins
and rockets skyward
in a wake of sparks
it cuts with fine edges 
through the peripheral
my dark stratosphere.

Again beyond view
out of sight.

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Thank you for reading. Here’s another poem.

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My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.

Glimpses at the Dark

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Please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.

—Alex

Glimpses at the Dark can be delivered every week.