That I could hold such a dear picture,
Complete with scents of a woman long gone from memory.
That slow movement onward, a foot in front
And then another, and another.
My memories are all so base and unbeautiful,
Pictures of logic and order.
Give me the pageant of a life lived well
And towering dreams of grandeur.
As I trudge toward that silent unknown
I see great, dark leaves sprouting from the canopy.
And the memories are so vivid and unkind,
Endless streams of those horrors that constitute Humanity.
Give me a love so pure that it cannot be touched.
Give me an earth so honest it cannot be titled.
Give me a life so good it cannot be argued,
And give me a death so silent it will not be challenged.
The foot stopped – it could no longer tread
The broken path to nothing.
I screeched a silent kiss
And said, “No more.”
The stone read, “He could mend his wounded body,
But he could not heal his broken spirit.”
7 April 2006