Engraved unsullied somewhere deep within,
Where many a weak thought shall buy the farm,
Rest those exact impressions cool and calm
Like big fish that kip, waggling well each fin;
And like waves that gulp seashells, things akin,
The thoughts do rise and bring to mind all harm
That I had faced fore I looked for a balm
To soothe my thoughts then numbed by country gin.
My face had wilted and withered and waned,
Revealing every pain, emotion, thought;
And there was not one thing I could have gained
Had I not written ’bout what my mind fought.
What I’m left with are impressions that pained,
Those that I never should want to be caught.
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I fail to call to mind those lovely days,
Which you now seem to cherish and admire;
Oh, but the day that left us in a daze
I shall forget not – That day we fought fire.
The night we felt all we saw was a pyre;
With prickled hands and legs we yearned for help
And scruffy hair, withered face, burnt attire,
Each wanting to let out a squawk, a yelp.
The fire engulfed all matter and us too;
And we knew it was not a time to rue.
So we defeated fire with all our might,
But we did lose our close, beloved ones.
Would we be ever witness to the sight
That we’d thought we should ever bide with once?
DO READ | Oscillations of Consciousness