Bubbles

they were innocent at school, bubbles

you got the tin and wand and blew

wet globules flew in the playground

we cheered at the squadrons we grew

 

they hit you in the face but harmless

we ran madly trailing clouds of glory

each bubble with its personal rainbow

to embroider some memory or story

 

trouble was that strong soapy smell

a reminder of the pain of bath night

mam trying in vain to immerse me

I screamed out with all my might

 

watching our bubbles soaring away

fragile globes of childish freedoms

before life imposed its dictatorship

in a prison of meaningless serfdoms

 

I'd look silly blowing bubbles now

though lately I've been tempted

it would be nice to revive bubbles

before my mind is finally emptied

 

I bought a bubble-kit this morning

each bubble talks to me as it floats

but worried neighbours took me in,

before ringing for men in white coats

bubble-kitbubblesglobesrainbowserfdomssoapywhite coats

◄ Chains In Your Eyes

Two Cats ►

Comments

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victoriavautaw@gmail.com

Wed 16th Dec 2020 14:00

I love bubbles. I never thought of them as personal story rainbows, but will forever now. It’s sad that bubbles are a trigger for a tragic story in your life, yet so inspiring that you are brave enough to create a new bubble memory. Great share Simon. ❤️

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