Mindful Archaeology

Something hopefully a bit uplifting in light of a world on fire.

Photo by Natalia Soto on Unsplash

There used to be a specter 
of happiness that was 
choked to death by misery
and I was afraid 
Time couldn't call it back
from the void.

Now Happiness stands tall 
in the face of impatient Time—
staring past narrowing eyes
of intimidation that fails
to cloak the desire
for a companion.
Everyone strives to leave
Time behind due to phantoms
at the tip of its tongue.
No one sticks around
to attempt comprehension,
and so Time has no incentive
to ever change, once alone.

Trauma becomes the dead 
mosquito immortalized in amber 
after too many reruns 
in the back of the mind
that loses its luster
faster than plastic diamonds
once out of the light—
and it'll never return,
not even under a sun
at summer's apex.

It's as real as an epiphany
to behold with the hand
but a relic of the past
that can longer harm you.
A fossil uncovered deep
from your head with tools
of remembrance. It is dead
and you are alive. It is small
and you are large. Holding
it like a trophy. Your prize
from Time. It lost and you won.
You will always win. No matter 
how long Time waits. We will
always win. Now hold it 
beneath the moonlight—
a looking glass of triumph.
The next trophy awaits.

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