Ink & Memories


1. 

Only ink is immortal. The flowers wither: life is a vicious cycle. They will never live again, like our childhood together. Those days are dead, but living in my mind. I wonder if your head houses those memories in a palace, or if after the years went by they were swept away into a crammed storage box, or a dusty corner. I keep them safe, clean, ready to replay. But how do I know it will always be like this? One by one I may disintegrate. And I know; only ink will save me.


2.                  
A memory falls away and I am a little less myself,
I want to catch it, cherish it, keep it forever.
Who are without our memories?  

Sentences wander and form in my mind
I fall asleep to the padding steps of ideas and words:
the task of making a straight line in my head.

Morning comes and all I see are footsteps
something was here before
–         a little piece of me is lost.

How can I reconcile myself?


3.

 Emotions:
I submit everything to you
lead me deep within myself  (I tremble)
so I have the clarity to see.

Wash over me     
drag me along with your undertow
pull out my insides and drench them with ink.

Guide me. 
Guide me to the page
then guide me out to the world again.

This is the only solution I know,
then        I can breathe again.

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