Wednesday, March 16, 2011

White Knights & Picket Fences

                The ending is supposed to be happy. At least, that’s the way the fairytales say; though I’ve never been one to read the entire book. Maybe I missed something in the skimming. I should have taken a second look, but the details just didn’t seem important at the time. I think back to the white knights and picket fences wondering why it became the standard. Of course, it’s easy for the sparkle to capture your imagination when youth still has you tightly spun.
                I could say that I’m wiser now, but there’s no point holding onto such lies. Especially when the brights are still on. The truth blinds past the glittered dresses and fairy godmothers now. My time of living in youthful fantasies ended when the lights dimmed. Two failed marriages revealed the kinked metal and crooked slats; a dreamed perfection that’s quickly gathering dust on my shelves.
                It’s time to let the dust settle across the pages. Step back from the obsessive need to keep the shelves clear and simply breathe. Not something I manage with any skill, but I wasn’t given the manual; so I’ll stumble on the frays and find a way to move forward, because there’s no point in going back. The charred bridge lies at the bottom of a river I will not cross again and I’m done mourning the loss of those dreams.
                Lessons learned, we glance back at the good with smiles and let the bad fade past memory. It’s time to pull up the straps, putting one foot down, because that’s the only way to get through the day to day. In place of progress, movement brings us toward the green of spring with some hope that it is fashioned for happiness. And the search for hope, happiness, and new love is always worth the next step.


  1. I love this piece, and it image at the top of a broken, abandoned house is haunting when coupled with your amazing and honest words.

  2. had to read this one a few times, so many exquisite lines. luv your prose. only wish you wrote more of it.


  3. So frank, honest, truth-full, and language-lush. Thank you, Ranee.

  4. Thankful you can't see tears through a monitor.

  5. I love this. I usually say the purpose of life is to sing. I love how this seemingly melancholy song is not melancholy at all. The melancholy broken house is singing. And singing with hope, happiness and new love. Absolutely beautiful poem. I can't call it prose; sorry. This is a song or the acceptance of love. Fantastic. Where is the fan list. Sign me up