A New Broom Sweeps Clean.

Wouldn't it be nice if the people who believe in reincarnation were right? We won't know until we die, of course. But, we can dream. But, life without death would make rebirth, redemption, and reincarnation impossible. 

As he pushed the broom across the empty floor,

he noticed the empty paper cups,

turned on their side.

They lay like soldiers dead on a battlefield.

The dead and dying ribbons,

used up napkins,

plastic silverware,

they never lived

here anyway.

The party,

like all parties,

had come to an end,

and he was left to clean up

the detritus of other people’s living.

He wondered

whether he would begin to live again.

In his dreams,

she floated into his consciousness,

an image of loveliness,

borne on a silver chariot,

brimming with promise.

Had he met his muse?

He felt safe in her arms,

Wrapped in surrender,

Seeking the promise of Love,

and kissing away

the hurt of past lives.

Could they find themselves

On a newly clean dance floor,

free from other people’s messes,

free to create their own new life

and free to love again?

It would be nice to be able to love again completely,

he thought,

as he reached across the bed

to touch her skin,

and lost himself in her embrace.