Tabula Rasa

I would be a blank slate,

stripped of memory,

(stripped of you)

my thoughts wiped clean

with a little discernment.

Rid of recollection,

no need to fear

the sticks and stones

that break my bones

break my heart

break my mind;

remembrances that polarize

and become identity

all too soon

(not soon enough)

Perhaps I'll cast my lot with sinners

or selflessly side with angels.

More likely I'll put a posey in my pocket,

clench a clover in my fist,

and hope for the best.

So take me to the river of forgetting.

Build the bonfire high.

Tonight I'll cast remembrance 
to the flames,

and after mark my face

with the ashes that remain.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.