Another minute—another hour—another day—another month and yet another year. A New Year unlike the last, an absence lingers amid the frosty January air. Jack Frost kisses the windows and creates a dazzling image made of rime. As I peer at his frosty painting that he so intricately framed with his frigid breath, I am pulled into my own mind, where I am to ruminate the question of life and death. An image of cold, lifeless, and pallid ghosts, much like Sir Frost, haunt my mind and pull me into my past, into my long forgotten memories of young adulthood, childhood, and infancy—formative ‘years’ of livelihood flutter about. The voices of my mother and my father croon and shriek, ensnared beyond the confinements of my mind. I feel a frigid breath upon me, a frozen soul that whimpers a song of sweet melody, a lullaby drawn upon the windows of rumination. Icy cold remembrance: succinct smiles—disappear from corporeality—faces lost amid elapsed memories that stagger and fall.
Thoughts of human transience—misplaced somewhere beyond the mazy muddle of my mind, the musings of my memories are left behind. Images flash back and forth—which scarcely allots time to decipher one figure from another. I discover recollections daily throughout the stories that speak to me in sweet-sweet song. The stories that meld and mold, shape and refine—recreating the beauty that I struggle to define. Trying so very hard to understand the animosity that lives and breathes inside of me, haunting me with these icy recollections. The ambiguous ghosts that follow me begin to haunt my past, present and future—leaving behind a curse of sadness and irresolution. The prelude of the New Year becomes the finale of my past.
My thoughts sit amongst one another, toasting to obscured reminiscences. Faces loom, haunt, and beg to be remembered, yet they are pushed aside by the present—the past slowly disappears as the mind quickly forgets. Saccharine thoughts are forgotten and the stale linger—they consume your conscious and compose a mephitic monstrosity of mortal reflection. The stoic outside seeps into the mind and congeals the warmth—it transforms into cold darkness and bitter resentment. Mortality laughs in your face and jesters the silence—tart masks mold and shape the outer appearance, a change of physical self—the outer shell exposed, while the inner soul lies decrepit and rotting amongst the goblins of your mind. They feed off of your past and erase what you have known, voices disappear, faces begin to fade, feelings falter and fall. Our life story becomes the prey of another vicious year gone by, another step closer to the edge of time, the edge of human existence. A life filled with mellifluous memories becomes but a memory itself—lost and absent in the threshold of time.
Time erases the past and preys on happiness. The mind becomes a haunted castle, with its dark and sinister secret passageways that are revealed through chance. The thoughts that dwell within the castle will grow too large to inhabit humanity and thus suffer mortal peril. The castle becomes dilapidated—a metaphorical image of lost thought. One can only escape the musings of their mind through death whence they can fly above their labyrinth and escape the mortal world. Frigid images freeze, expand, shift, alter and become lost—remembered today and gone tomorrow. Consciousness is ruled by its insidious meditation—a frozen photograph framed upon the minds eye. Shivering—a glacial painting upon the window, an icy tapestry that disappears and melts, as the mind’s fire heats and the flame burns—Memories expire. Another year—another month—another day—another hour—another minute lost within our mind…
A toast to today; yet another forgotten tomorrow, Happy New Year!
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