Well, this is new - poetry!
Yet again, I produce something that isn't what I had in mind and isn't what I would go looking for to read. But it's my baby and I like it.
There are a couple of things about it that bug me, though, so if you wanna make helpful suggestions or concrit, either comments or email would be great.
Books written through centuries of Watching say
we donít forget.
Brains animated by magic,
cells that canít decay, connections that canít be broken;
memories frozen in amber,
unchanging from the hour of our death.
They say we canít forget.
God knows Iíve tried.
Sense-memory is particularly strong.
Brilliant shades of blood Ė
Carmine, scarlet, vermillion, maroon, crimson.
(I once wrote an ode on the colours of blood. It was crap.)
Smells Ė fear, desire, hunger, birth and death.
Animal, vegetable. Elixir and poison.
And the screams.
I remember the screams.
If memory is fixed, immutable,
how do I learn?
Angelusíd give you an answer Ė
Never learned not to love stupidly, completely.
Never learned not to be too human.
Never learned to forget.
Heís wrong though.
I do change. Do learn,
with the heart, if not the brain.
Know his scent now, sunlight and new clean timber.
Can hear his heartbeat in a fairground crowd.
Iíve learned the shape of his skull under clutching fingers,
the way he closes his eyes when he leans in.
Tastes like nothing else in the world.
Donít know how long heíll stick around,
but these? Will be with me forever.
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