Like the ones forgiven,
The ones buried
Deep in the soil of a subconscious memory -
Why doesn't forgetfulness grace
The tiny notches of the grey cells
And valves of the bloody red ticker?
Why do memories metamorphosis into Memoirs
Like the garish, yellowish light of a solar garden stake
That looms instead of the darkness around
with mock illumination?
Why don't unpleasant flashes of images
cease to reappear on the canvas of the human mind?
Why oh why
Do souls suffer the sabotage of unfading reminiscence?
