With a voice so haunting
Like a prophecy spoken aloud
Comes a whisper from the depths
Of a past I was once fond of
Meandering into the crevices
And cracks of my long forsaken heart
Like an unwanted guest,
To stay, but to never depart.
The fountainhead of time mingles
With threads of three colors
Woven into a delicate fabric
Entwined in an embrace, fluid
Changing, mixing, merging
Yet always remaining the same
The form has a taste of permanence
And a ring of eternity, going up in flames.
Stuck like a broken record,
Cacophonous is the bell
That tolls every morning at dawn
The best moments of the past
Have been recorded over
With silence and a black screen
The memories fade to the background
The smiles can no longer be seen.
Vultures come to feast on the carcass
Left behind by words once said
Meant to be obliterated by the listener,
But forced to live on in the dead
It takes two to forget a memory
Or one, if the other never speaks
But when voices whisper in my ear
They find their words cannot be obsolete.
Maybe the words fade to dust
Hidden under layers of faltered trust
And time cannot change
The ash of these remains
Dangling from a troubled mind
So broken and so unkind
And I am always hanging on
To these forgotten conversations, so long.
I’m submitting the above for Thursday Poets’ Rally Week 39, hosted by Jingle.