Cruel and Inhuman
The present is tortured
by confinement
in the cold dank cell
of solitary recollection.
An isolated memory grows fangs --
it gnaws at its own wrist.
Upon the whetstone
of lonely despair
it hones a blade
fashioned from the scattered
scree of the fractured past --
for it longs to free
its dispirited blood
from the circling tunnels
of incessant remembrance.
It yearns for reunion
with a partnered past,
so to share once again
what was once shared as new --
to dwell in the present
with no fear of the coming hour,
no fear of tomorrow --
every memory reborn a blessing.
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