There are those tragedies you don’t want to let go,
Aren’t there?
Despair so familiar, it turns friend
And sits with you in your loneliness
Till the loneliness fades out of existence
And you stay in the dark, digging into
Festering wounds with gusto.
What good is there in recycled pain?
What reprieve lays in wait for those
Who crawl out of themselves
And attempt life without history?
History?
What do we call all of time
Steaming in a flask?
What is this?
A quid pro quo for tired tears?
A drunken fatuous tango
On a chessboard
Begging…begging to lose?
Come, come
Start a bonfire;
Something must burn
With all toxic ties.
And though hope may have died,
Gems rise
From charred things so
Something…
Something must give.
UPSILAMBA!!! 
Amma, I absolutely love this. It is beautifully written.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Naa 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can’t stop thinking about this:
“What reprieve lays in wait for those
Who crawl out of themselves
And attempt life without history?”
What does it mean? It’s scaring me, LOL. I’m seeing phoenix imagery while being reminded of my own decision to shed my past self and be a different person in the same body. What does this mean?
LikeLiked by 1 person
The shedding and rebirth process isn’t always pretty. One is never sure through and through, what lies ahead.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Something must burn
LikeLiked by 1 person
This one! It shook me; flung things about in my head. Can we ever talk about the ‘Gems’ without mentioning the ‘charred things’?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hmm…
LikeLike