Haiku #786

786.

Memory’s a knot,
Tightly I tied it myself;
Concrete slowing feet.

In Memoriam

Corridor necessities
Amid vomitoria policies,
A mind in memoriam;
For benches searched
Or even Delphic creeds
Though every turn
Fired memories
Across my synapses,
And how they burned;
I may never achieve
That Field of Reeds
Across the frightening river,
When reason is deserting
And yesteryear still hurting,
Irony is shaped by
Hephaestos beserkly
Hammering my soul
Once golden and yet
Now smouldering,
Malleable, and dirty;
With each strike he sang
A weapon for a war we lost
Before conscription started.

Someone stole the show
While, in cells below I waited;
So I write, not to remember
But instead, to purge, forget,
And now is nothing,
Is all I have left.

Ode To Hurt

We cannot just close off hurt;
This is as absurd as trying to cram
An already full cupboard
With one too many of multiple toys
Destined to remain unplayed,
A little mouldy here, a little frayed
Around the ears. For hurt
Is always stronger for us,
And eventually, as inevitably
As fir cones on a forest floor,
The cupboard doors open
Not with an announcement,
Not with a crash of cymbals and drums,
But a quiet undoing in the night,
So that on awaking, everything,
Everything has departed the mouth
Of that destitute space,
And there is nothing left to say.

This is why we watch each other
From across an indifferent room
Where strangers are in a hiatus,
We may as well be further away.
No, it is better to leave these remains
And sometime purchases from shops
Now closed, where people worked
Who now are dead, and businesses,
And love, oh how we live,
Where living brings an end to death,
But hurt there, dressed and exhaling,
Looks at itself in a mirror, and begins.