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Amnesia


Would you judge me harshly
if I told you plain
of the splendor of a summer's night
that turned my head,
bent my mind,
made me something other:
culpable
expendable
maybe unforgivable
and unable
to speak free.

I would not take that chance 
and risk your censure.

So now I reap the harvest
that I've sown,
and though your gaze does tempt me,
I will stay here on my riverbank
gathering roses while I may.

Oh, let the breeze caress my skin
and whisper stories in my ear!
I'll make of memory
a secular sacrifice
(burned and scattered on the winds)
or maybe stuffed into a chest
of ancient recollection.
Locked up safe 
from you
(and me)
until my dreams' death rattle warns
that amnesia now holds sway.

 This was written for The Sunday Whirl.

7 comments:

Cara H said...

Sometimes the amnesia takes a long time to take hold. Then sometimes something triggers the memory, and one is left with a bittersweet feeling.
Beautifully written.
http://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com/2014/11/spectrum.html

November 30, 2014 at 1:54 AM
oldegg said...

Witnessing the effect and confusion of amnesia on a loved one is so saddening. My own mother took that long, slow trip away from us; frightened, angry and upset until she was completely out of reach and we were strangers.

November 30, 2014 at 4:06 AM
Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) said...

Absolutely exquisite and evocative tale

November 30, 2014 at 5:02 AM
thewritersvillage said...

lovely poem. Randy

November 30, 2014 at 10:25 AM
keithsramblings said...

Oh, I've forgotten what I was going to say! Seriously though, a lovely poem about a difficult subject.

November 30, 2014 at 11:59 AM
Marilyn B said...

Great fun to read. Thanks!

December 1, 2014 at 10:33 AM
Alice Audrey said...

That works well when there's someone else on your side of the river. Flowers make sad company.

December 1, 2014 at 10:18 PM