How do you douse a memory
from the abyss of misery,
to rub off a solacing fragrance
that puts the unruly to sleep?
...
For many a time I have told myself 'No', as often as I told myself to let her go.
Against her inviting smile, I looked away.
And again I stumbled on what words to say.
...
I stood at a familiar place,
underneath a spring tree;
and sat on the cozy sod
that once meant home to me.
...
Oblivion
How do you douse a memory
from the abyss of misery,
to rub off a solacing fragrance
that puts the unruly to sleep?
How do you put back the silver roses
that were foolishly plucked,
for a dream that was prayed
but absurd in reality?
How do you cease the ghost
that nurses the echoes of agony;
a sickening worm crawling,
eating its way deep?
Thine own heart's winter is endless,
trapped in a blizzard of its tears,
and oblivion is what's left
for your anguish and fears.