When everyday things like writing
a poem
have flown into the heavens above
they sit there amused at humankind
for bemoaning their untimely
demise.
Not dead but waiting for the
right time
to emerge again into my life
so I can feel their awesome
effect
and know loss isn’t
permanent.
Yet the time it takes endless it
seems
to know again what has been lost
and I like a jilted lover
remain burdened with memories.
Now burdens are such that no one
can love
or trip through the daisies of a
new life
until the brain and heart
transforms
to adapt to the new and untried.
But in the process of
transformation
memories surface time, time
again,
and it seems to me like a
punishment
for having so loved what is no
more.
And so how can I trip through the
daisies
unburdened and totally free
from that “gone but not forgotten”
that stalks my everyday life?
And the question goes out to the
ether
there to sit and be amused
at one who inherently knows
to not in this lifetime forget!
