For you, who finds remnants of their past, only to remiss them, losing their memories to time.
Laying on a great heap,
of my past seven years,
are pieces of wrinkled paper,
that carry words old and dear.
But, I seem to have forgotten,
contents of them, they're lost,
so before I even toss them,
I open one of them and read across.
Such familiar lines and apologies,
that ring a noticeable longing,
they stir the once dead memories,
into an pyre that now starts burning.
This was you, this was me,
in a past where 'we' meant all,
where simple letters, sentences be,
a means to keep us in control,
Of all the mixed emotions,
stirring, flaying through the soul,
as love, became a staple,
what bound two halves, into a whole.
But, I remember so much more,
than rainbows, and loving undertones,
I recall each painful letter formed,
into screaming hurts, insults thrown.
Where I wished that silence,
would be the saving grace for us,
as the crumbling foundation quickened,
leading my heart broken, into rust.
And I begged I did, you know it,
each tear a letter tied behind them,
scoring volumes of 'sorry's' with,
a voice tired, wheezing, growing thin.
Yet, through the sobbing and despair,
somehow, time put that behind bars,
made from numbness and acceptance,
reaching each night sky star.
Eons passed and I had soon come,
to find myself become anew,
where each of these forgotten letters,
remind me little of even you.
Where they just call for a lost,
and void member of what was once me,
for as these letters had been forgotten,
in the fire before me, they will be.
YOU ARE READING
For You
PoetryFor you, my words they are to keep, For you, my dreams to fill your sleep, For you, my life in your hands, For you, my love I still stand. (Cover is self made)
