Forgetting

Living with the knowledge of dying, with grief.

Today instead of walking up and down

stone walls, reading names, running

my fingers along deeply etched grooves

of sigh and empty stare

I will either find a path along a quiet road

whose budding byways signal an unfamiliar

stirring, a sorrow unrecognizable, so tolerable

or else lie down in the plume ripe bustle

that drowns all nagging and whispering to

a subtle background din, almost pleasant

Still, I will not relent returning 

let my eyes recede with the rippling tide

and run my hand along the bench

that will one day, also

bare my name

Reviews

[Creepy Swine Guy]

You make me wonder about this bench. Surly it must be some sort of memorial where names are engraved and people come to run their fingers over the engraved names and sigh ... and gaze ... and think. I see by the last stanza that this bench is by the sea. I think I might like to sit on this bench and think.

[Kristina Moulaison]

That is exactly right and I can picture you there! :)

[Kristina Moulaison]

...feeding the birds.

[Devesh]

I loved the imagery you used. The stone walls, the deeply etched grooves, it was as if I could touch them while reading. Also, I like the content, resonates with me. Thank you for sharing, great job! :)

[Kristina Moulaison]

Thanks so much! I appreciate you reading and sharing your thoughts!

[Devesh]

You're welcome! Thanks for sharing :)