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Memory
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2013 I cannot remember a time when my youth was untouched by the waves of reality.
I cannot recall ever playing in the sand building monuments of splendor.
But most of all, I do not remember any kiss on the forehead or bedtime story.
Although there are somethings I do remember, I remember them everyday.
I remember my mother being torn from my grasp and I cannot convey my agony.
I remember my father murdering my childhood joys.
There is one last thing I cannot remember. Perhaps it has yet to happen.
Or perhaps it is within me now.
Very authentic feel to it, as
Very authentic feel to it, as not everyone has the awareness of things not remembered. Not because they never happened but because they are afraid they did.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Ah thank you very much!
Ah thank you very much!