I reassemble,
The wind flows backwards to your hands,
I am returning from whatever version of “beyond” you choose to believe,
Each particle caring a manifest blessing back with it.
Perhaps tears flow up your face, retracing the progression of grief down your cheek.
Or maybe I was an awful at the end and in rewind you whisper “dead is ***** old that god thank.”
But either way that is the past… or the future,
It isn’t prudent to examine such distinctions now
It’s movement not direction that matters.
My form is re-forged by fire,
My bones smoothing in the heat
My flesh hardens from liquid to coalesce around my uncooking muscles,
And still I rewind,
Personality and character drifting through the cobweb wrinkles of my skin,
Till somewhere in the dynamo of my body my heart finally beats its last “*** ba”… and then it’s second to last.
How strange is a life lived backwards?
Would words taste different in my mouth, have new meaning in rewind,
Would I find satanic messages in my everyday phrases or just speak in nonsense, a string of “a-blah-blah” that takes too long to be made sense of.
How different would my actions be?
My hands could peel away bruises,  unbreak eggs, and **** insults out of the air
Yet who would be responsible for these miracles,
Some dreadful foreword version of myself.

We're gonna make it one day
Gonna go far away
To a brand new start.

Going to open up wide
Let you step right inside
And take a piece of my heart.

When you tear down the walls
That my memory recalls
You tore down once before.

We're gonna make it one day
Babe it's not far away
To a brand new start.

Wind pushed along the clouds..
The same way I budged myself through the light of day..

My thoughts have become a cliché..
Deemed, my mind is soon to decay..

Hazy.. lazy.. 
Shadowing time.. 
Tailing this lure.. through dusk and dawn.

I'm jaded.
I'm faded.
This world has got me shaded.

There's nothing I can do, 
but fight for my virtue.. wherethrough, dusk.. and dawn...

There's a tree over there
that waits for its dreamer.

I have survived many.
And lost much
but to tell all would encumber several human spans
because
I have lived and longed.
I have learned and yearned.
I have waited.
At the train station, where existence can only be fulfilled
via a spiritual connection.
Bounded by roots that twist and secure
Soon to be bonded with thoughts
Floating through the sky, riding the air waves, see-through till caught
in a spider's web, or something like it.
And imaginary gets real.
Take in the matter
Scrub the void with scrounged emotions and colors
Pour in materials of lint and string.
Mediums with no particular conductance,
but taught it tight
and strum till the vibrations reverberate
and bring your idea to life in my wings
Because you are my dreamer.
And I am your catcher.
Hung on a wooden peg,
in your study.
Waiting for the day you
pick me up
and all your dreams tumble out and
materialize
and you realize **who you are.

What holds more power,
the stars in the sky or the coals in a fire?
By all accounts, most stars in the sky have been dead longer than this planet has been alive.
We just see them in passing.
But the coals in this fire are still alive and powerful.

More can still come from this...

I need a mirror
Constantly on me,
So I can see
If I'm merely a puppet
On her hand,
Angelic puppeteer,
Or maybe I'll gaze at
Strings leading up
Into a hidden balcony
I a most loyal marionette,
And she most beautiful
Devilish manipulator, making me
Dance to her tugs
And pulls and yanks,
When did I let this happen?
Am I happy or upset?
Didn't realize when
These steps taken
Were no longer mine,
Ignored sign after sign
Like speed limits on a freeway,
And I'm barreling fast
No slowing down; into which?
A wall or an off-ramp?
One my demise
The other a scenic road,
Or will this highway
Just finish in midair?
© okpoet