Unbeknownst tummy why, (around
about 2200 hours October 5th, 2018),
     a slew of forgotten incidents quasi
lee linkedin, and questionably
     nsync, though lightly browned

     with Alfred Lord Tennyson's,
     "The Charge of the
     Light Brigade" - ("found"
via Google search), nonetheless,
     said decades old reminiscences

     and remembrances, viz
     early father forcefully
     came barging unstoppably,
     and furiously galloping
     out of the blue - painfully crowned

ning me noggin like
     a crash test dummy
     on the prowl akin
     to a frenzied blood hound
tearing at light speed - unbound
(defying laws of physics) just now

     forgotten instances I feebly
     try to expound
     inexplicably purportedly
buried in a “mound”
long forgotten everyday details,
     when all my (deux than

     young restless) children abound
did with limitless energy ground
me with fatigue as the world turned,
     two beautiful hearts lovingly pound
ding with oblivious innocent bliss,

     ah such ordinariness unwound
recollections roared back resound
ding lee - into my mind
     with out a sound
re: collections long since past

     suddenly didst rib bound
did (mainly, when thee and the Punim
     spent time at playground
as young little girls),
     who oft times found,

     ye or Shana clamoring
     for this dada to push
     both of thee simultaneously
     on the swing or merry-go-round,
or later on during that evening,

     or another occasion found
the three of us
     laughing (**...**...**...) as we played
     one or another round
of Mancala, Uno, Scrabble,

     Sorry, (where this papa clowned
no matter, he got his game pieces round
lee sent homeward bound),
     those supposedly forgotten
     days of yore suddenly rumbling

     within thy inner sanctum all mound
joyless deep under ground
     came barreling thru my psyche
     analogous to a class 5 hurricane
     like gang busters
    lashing out and drowned
at my whole being.

Analogous to many a flaming among
fiery roaring tongue,
     poised sinned thyself to flung
maybe this equates with
     emotional repression – Carl Jung

     would attest deservedly, aye clung
condemned to Dante's Inferno,
     searing each lung
where just moments ago, a typhoon
     swept over this papa,

     no longer a foo fighting
     "special hero" unsung,
     whose sweaty hands could
     no longer grasp hold of sanity
his entire soul felt inconsolably rung
with bittersweet asphyxiated,
     choking suffocating tears.