aspiring to white

Poem #234 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction


where he walked
he left the footprints
the spoor
of a better man

every step
held inside itself
a small idea
of more

behind him
as time passed
each imprint
slowly disappeared

behind him
the might have been
dispersed
day by day
and wind by wind
until the dust
was gone
and hard clay
was all that remained

he bent low
to strike a match
ignite his paper

yellow flame
flared
an idea of something
more

an aspiration
to rise up
burn hot
and to transform
a yellow self
into white


© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #235: the flaw

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