Chiaroscuro in Pixels

It is very hard to write this way, beginning things backward…
– Hemmingway, The Torrents of Spring (1926)

Like a canvas, a tabla rasa, a fertile void,

I sit in front of the screen with a blank document.

The contents of my personal past, impressions,

stored in long term memory, surface upon reflection.

The neocortex bears its fruit, when searched at will,

for the pieces, fragments, and shattered images.

What is actually “recalled” may be newly formed,

especially if semantic memories mix with episodic.

In placing any of these reflections upon a blank page,

they are first filtered through perception.

Perhaps, an artist has more control with a brushstroke,

than a poet, taking liberty with shadows and light.

This is the question, how to present the puzzle,

in a way that best represents the truth?

Renewal

Is the past beyond redemption?
Can not the truth be retrieved
from amidst this disorderly pile
of worn out tattered journals?

The dust that has collected,
must be sifted out from amongst
these scattered pages, uncategorized;
yet, containing the codes of my life.

A life, previously unraveled,
like nucleotides rearranged on a double helix,
twisting and turning along an invisible axis
of the original blueprint of life.

In the distance – a light –
that bears witness to the tragic notes,
sounded out throughout an endeavor
to peer through the darkness.

In time, the dust becomes
visible to the eye of the soul,
when the first ray of dawn,
shines through the window.

Every particle, suspended in the air,
for a brief moment, before settling
down on the floor, vanishes from sight,
like the bioluminescence of fireflies.

Renewal

Can the past be redeemed?
Can the truth be retrieved
from amidst this pile
of tattered journals?

The dust that has collected,
must be sifted out from amongst
these scattered pages, uncategorized;
yet, containing the codes of a life

previously unravelled,
like nucleotides rearranged on a double helix,
twisting and turning along an invisible axis
of the original blueprint of life.

In the distance – a light –
bearing witness, to the tragic notes,
played throughout an endeavor
to peer through the darkness.

The dust is made visible
to the eye of the soul,
while the first ray of dawn,
shines through the window.

Every particle, suspended in the air,
for a brief moment, before settling,
on the floor, vanishing from sight,
like the incandescence of fireflies.