I Write Memories

Ever experienced a state of destruction, that you may prevent or provoke?
As I prepare my evening tea, this thought evoke.

Congested thoughts reflect like traffic,
Like unused boxes dumped into the attic.

As the truth cuts, the rage builds,
Venom takes my words, as the perspective tilts.

I find myself wallowing,
Lost in the depths of self-loathing,

Betraying, misunderstanding,
Things I couldn’t undo of my wrongdoings.

I beg nature’s tune to distract me,
Take me to a faraway place and attract me.

Call it serendipity, I’m there,
On a meadow, breathing the smell of grass, I stare.

The brushing wind sending me a faint chill,
Watching the horizon line over the hill.

With my hands gripped tight,
Unaware by whom, I try to bring back my sight.

Writing such memories, I feel a pang of dread,
With a warm tap on my shoulders, she said,

“Don’t you worry, my dear,
Map your memories, pixel by pixel, I’ll reappear to wane your fear.”


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