Clash of eons
It is an eerie sensation to encounter
of wallpaper spied upon the dusty tile
new, yet smelling of ages gone.
The synthetized flavor of banana flesh
in milky nectar
shocks the challenged memories of
this uncertain body.
The scent of pine in the midst of decaying
emanates through the vegetal carpeting
crying a complaint to the hesitating step.
Beethoven's pastoral rings so familiar
of a classroom
now crowded in vivacious tones
cutting as the clamors of infant's voices.
I will not touch the giants of the temple
as I once ventured hiding and seeking for
I may merge with the world a little too soon.
It is a threatening omen in the presence of
where everything I have ever known
points to my essence in its fiery embrace.
The flesh recalls in its dying fibers
and a tremor
as if still in the truth of infinite events
refused to forget as I attempt for a new life.