Inspired by the book “The Invisible Life of Addie Larue” by V.E. Schwab and a reoccurring dream I had when I was younger which convinced me then that I’d had a past life.
a broom in hand
of sticks and brush,
before a thatched-roof cottage
set upon a high cliff.
My music was the sound
of wild waves crashing,
of ocean birds screeching -
a symphony of nature.
That was a dream,
or perhaps a memory
of a life once lived.
Who’s to say it was not me?
In this life
I have not washed
the page clean,
only lifted what I could,
set aside the pieces
of what I once thought true
and written over them,
the old me
still breathing
beneath each new inscription,
all of it,
still me.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-04-01 at 02:02
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palimpsest
I swept the soil,a broom in hand
of sticks and brush,
before a thatched-roof cottage
set upon a high cliff.
My music was the sound
of wild waves crashing,
of ocean birds screeching -
a symphony of nature.
That was a dream,
or perhaps a memory
of a life once lived.
Who’s to say it was not me?
In this life
I have not washed
the page clean,
only lifted what I could,
set aside the pieces
of what I once thought true
and written over them,
the old me
still breathing
beneath each new inscription,
all of it,
still me.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-04-01 at 02:02
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