May 2014
And what of the dead.
they disappear suddenly,
but they are only gone after months and years have passed, once the living have forgotten.
They live in the darkest furthest parts of our minds, and it's on the coldest nights that we remember them,
in tears we resurrect the dead from their sleep.
Bringing them alive once again in our minds until old scents once taken for granted fill our nostrils, and blurry faces flash before our eyes,
and we mistake distant noises for the calls of our dead loved ones... Whispering our names as twilight approaches.
And it is in this twilight that we fret, when there is neither daylight nor darkness, when all things are suspended in a moment that calls for reminiscing.
Remembering, remembering, because we hate to forget. Hate to let their memories slip away so that we cannot recollect them when loneliness is descending upon us.
But they fade through generations and slowly they are forgotten, because the unforgettable are no longer remembered by the ones who canβt forget, because the ones who canβt forget pass away, and the ones who can't forget are forgotten by those who are forgetful.
So soon and sooner than we think they are gone forever, like a breeze in summer they will be forgotten in winter,
like falling stars that hold so much hope, disappearing off the horizon leaving you,
like birds soaring in the sky, a sight to see until they fly further and further away until your eyes lose them in the altitude and they are gone forever.
Only then do the dead truly disappear.
they disappear suddenly,
but they are only gone after months and years have passed, once the living have forgotten.
They live in the darkest furthest parts of our minds, and it's on the coldest nights that we remember them,
in tears we resurrect the dead from their sleep.
Bringing them alive once again in our minds until old scents once taken for granted fill our nostrils, and blurry faces flash before our eyes,
and we mistake distant noises for the calls of our dead loved ones... Whispering our names as twilight approaches.
And it is in this twilight that we fret, when there is neither daylight nor darkness, when all things are suspended in a moment that calls for reminiscing.
Remembering, remembering, because we hate to forget. Hate to let their memories slip away so that we cannot recollect them when loneliness is descending upon us.
But they fade through generations and slowly they are forgotten, because the unforgettable are no longer remembered by the ones who canβt forget, because the ones who canβt forget pass away, and the ones who can't forget are forgotten by those who are forgetful.
So soon and sooner than we think they are gone forever, like a breeze in summer they will be forgotten in winter,
like falling stars that hold so much hope, disappearing off the horizon leaving you,
like birds soaring in the sky, a sight to see until they fly further and further away until your eyes lose them in the altitude and they are gone forever.
Only then do the dead truly disappear.
