Can't Forget

December 13, 2008
By Randy Munger, Lewiston, ID

I Can't Forget

The past, for me, of all people, is in the present.

I try to forget, trying to slumber through peace less nights,
All the while shaking,
Shaking for the loss that had come to pass.

The shaking, I believe, the shaking of my heart, my soul and mind,
Was brought on by a curse,
A curse only ones who have that unholy ability and hearts filled with eager redemption can put on such a person as myself.

The trembling, oh the trembling…
That's what comes first, first in my night of peace less slumber,
Trembling as thoughts, images and memories race through what I wish I could call a young mind,
Yet I can't, for I don't believe young minds can see these grotesque, however innocent images that I see.

Then starts the silent moaning, moaning for my losses, oh my losses…
Moaning for the losses of what I thought was the one I loved, only to then find that I had loved again, and again, and again.. Then I come to a conclusion: They never loved me as elegantly and as passionately and as carefully as I did them.

They were just along to discover what a man is made of, and then rip him limb by limb, to dominate him.

A fierce rage then comes over me,
I can't take this rage... oh the rage!
The knowledge of my ignorant choices is too much for me it seems,
The ignorance of my footsteps following the trail they made me,
I fall down that hole, every night passing one or another of their devious chapters in my book of life.

Then comes the silent, but exceedingly audible, frantic weeping.

Oh the weeping... this is the most pain I will ever feel it seems, how could my mind ever settle and how could I live to walk over my own threshold again when the morning comes?

This question is answered with a sudden blanket of calm,
The moments of my curse are over, it seems, for they continue to haunt my dreams of which I have of succulent times past and her brilliant smile smears across my vision as if I was with her again, and I drearily, but, finally, fall into a light slumber that will not survive the rest of the night.

The author's comments:
I wrote this piece in a very deep, Edgar Allen Poe-like depression that lasted nearly 9 months.

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