journal · poetry


Wrap it up.
Fold it in.
There is no hope of forgetting
this sin.
What did you win
and what was the cost?
Was it worth what you lost?
After the war was fought,
the ocean crossed,
into a land of defeat –
gloss over it –
bury the splintered heart
piled neatly at your feet.
Mop up all the memories
and wash each one away,
leave no evidence or trace
of iniquitous yesterdays.
They will only delay you
the best of all your efforts
to move forward.
once stamped into the record
of your soul
will eat you whole.
So lock up this acidic sin,
but don’t forget to take the lesson
when you set sail for tomorrow
or you’ll be giving sorrow
the perfect opportunity
to strike.


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