December 27, 2015 § 2 Comments
Stop. Unless — can you bring it back?
Because thinking about it,
I’d rather suffer here in the dark than
stand in the light of an unknown sun.
Memories more vivid than present day
seared on my mind and waking nighttime
ghouls. Forgetting is hemlock and don’t
tell me Truth or whisper some cultural cliché.
The grief of goodness lost is a purple fire;
it’s forget or burn.
I’ve drunk cold water and learned to be content;
I’ve taken lessons from stoics, meditated cross-legged
on flat rocks, prayed to a dead god on a cross,
and yet — there, it rises, flickers again,
red-flamed and forgotten.