Promises.

A blur of flowers lay by their side,

memorable efforts from a grieving relative.

Sombre and silent and still they sat -

the scene picked me up

and took me through time.

Amongst a heavy fog of grey, the memory stood there;

I slid my hand into the cloud and tore through it.

They were there, and I was too.

A weathered old envelope was in their hands,

it bulged one side, flat on the other.

In my mind I went back to the day, and held the envelope up,

to let the contents fall into my soft, caring palm.

I bowed my head in thought, and knew I would do it.

But before I could, the saintly wind that blew me through time,

and sucked me back again.

I took my place back in the present,

slipping into my mourning clothing; my favourite suit,

Pinstriped, royal blue shirt, and a lighter shaded tie.

For they were me, and I was them,

 and I never fulfilled that promise.

Tissue in hand, hand on nose,

another mourner came to my side, and noticed the shine

of an ageing artefact that lay in my hand.