When You Forget Me Poem by Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III

When you forget me,
forgetful one.

Dont deny my coda,
my walk through
the black Azaleas.
My damp blanket
of locusts.

Don't derange my miseries
as the catacombs
of the unsown tempest.

They were always right for me.
I needed them as solidarity
begs for silence.
They were my soul, my furies,
my constant drift with the rain.

Don't dismiss my candor
in all it's perfect frailty.
I never forgave myself
for my weakness.

To me, it was never necessary.

I never thanked you for my sorrows
or my impatient thoughts,
that now reside beyond the tides of memory
gently combing over the absence of my eyes lost quarrel with truth.

They still swim into the night
for their chance to dine
with illumination.
A chance to be more than my thought,
for they never truly belonged to me.

In so many ways I know
my grip
is weaker.

The flavor of the blueberry nightfall
that once scorched my throat
now fumbles between my teeth.

Slowly, I starve for understanding.
The wind falls like sand through the
wake of summer leaves.

I miss them,
my old affair with geometry,

my lost concerto of language.

I need, now, my windows,
covered in mango shades and carnival dust.

I need, here, my exhales...catalyzed in dream.

I need, you, my sadness,
locked inside the essence of freedom.

Do not forget
the world is still rising.
Redeeming still, my light,
my discarded truths,
and so, so many,
of my uncounted deaths.