A flim box of trying to remember
and trying not to,
He turned his face the sound of the motorcycle
And she how that old woman
remembered that face
It's amusing how she thought when
You want to Forget everything that's
Now buried in dust and years,
it comes strangling you
How life throws it at you like
Your the trash can
A pitcher left over juice
How rude you say‐
And seems like he tried to hold his
head up to
Eyes focus on the prize but there was no
Prize–
or maybe there was far but greater
For he tried to forget her the film box of
Error.
She taught Error as well thinking of prize
For they both had a glimpse a single flash
*
Of broken blue and red lights of thinking
They succeed in the dusted box of
Forgetment
But the universe thought different and
maybe paused a button,
On the old fashion box tevelevsion
seeing if they/you
Watcher/reader
remembered still–
What was there before and after.
-ashes poetry
A/N saw somone I know or should I say used to know that inspired Me to write this, how are you guys feeling? It's the end of the week and I'm feeling a little tired but calm despite all the chaos around me nonetheless.
