Memory and Grief

To forget is false reprieve,

for a memory never dies.

Although we may bury it,

he scratches, and cries for attention.

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He stalks, waits, for opportunity,

to pounce on us, and remind.

And even if we could kill him,

a corpse will always stink.

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Hope and regret left out to spoil,

his stench of rot seeps into

those hopeful tomorrows,

turning them into failed todays.

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Instead, we might try to entertain,

understand him, and domesticate.

Only to learn, that in our haste

We have given him the reins.

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He will always then drive us,

kicking and screaming to the grave.

Where we must learn to survive,

and thrive, despite crippling grief.

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