Original Work · Poetry

Brick Backpack


brick backpackSometimes I imagine my past as a back pack of bricks.

“Why?” you may ask, “Why think so heavy?”

Each brick is a memory.

Packed densely with character.

Sight, sound, sense, feel, and most important – people.

Each person has their own brick.

Somewhat like a library’s cross-referencing system.

This is how my bag gets even heavier.


trailThis is why I seek out my loneliness.

I lighten my burden, by slowly unpacking my load.

Once unpacked, I lay them out in front of me,

surveying my life – right before my eyes.

I smile and cry, and scream all at once,

but once out, they begin to feel like feathers.

I put them back in my pack, one after one.

Then I rejoin the trail, with my feather bricks.

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