Still I have not forgotten.
All the sorrow, the pains,
the wistful goodbyes of yesterdays,
ring hellos into all of my tomorrows.
Some remain subtle, some must be unwound
as must the tricky words and expressions
of one who must both express and hide
the matters of weight on his mind,
and some
crash through with an unfeined vengeance,
as such must be taken on my
soul.

And on the late nights such as these,
when the crickets cry,
and the moths fly dutifully to their death
into the only flame which lights my existence,
I can understand,
completely comprehend,
every wrong turn I've ever made.
I see that, though this wretched agony
is all I have,
it is I
that has caused all of
my suffering and much of
others.

Still,
as hopelessness pervades and
the names of past lovers
rush past my lips,
and the liquid inspiration runs past my lips,
I find the center in me.
And, much like an ever-burning candle
in a hurricane,
despite its fragility,
it will not fail.

So, though I may speak in riddles and
rhyme in trivialities,
I know there is a part of me as
insistent as
infinity, and
as wrong as generalities.
And even when I fail, as surely
I shall,
I can never lose complete hope.

How I wish I could.

To just fly into the flame and
forget
all who would be to blame, and to
regret all who would feel the same.
To let go of my worldly desires,
I yearn,
to find the truth when our eyes
forever close,
to the world and
to ourselves.
To burn
in the way
that would finally set me free.
To release myself to and in finality to
my demons,
my reality.

But I can't.

As my yesterdays knock on my tomorrows,

I can't.