recesses of the mind..

behind closed doors 
Is it what we imagine
Is it all just a song..
someone writing lyrics 
of all that’s right and wrong..
steady sounds smoothly 
humming about 
sometimes quiet 
sometimes a shout.. 
musty odors of life lived
then boxed away..
words drifting through the air
I feel them on my skin
somehow comforting
as I realize 
life will always begin..
A narrative 
my narrative 
rumbling through the mind 
arms reaching out and grabbing
so I’m not left behind..
a story 
my story plays on and on 
then rewinds..
eclipsed
by lightning bolt urgency 
of moments lost 
moments gained 
edited by time..