Memories arise, from closed, dusty cupboards
Of love and despair. Youth is only expended
In augmenting dreams. This wasted photoframe
Holds thousands pictures of failure. Success -
Almost a lost word in the dictionary crouching
In a corner of it. So many yearsâ?? journals
Invisibly piled in the invisible pile of tokens from life.
Colour pencils of love in the pen-stand of faith
Waiting for me to go back, pick them and paint my canvas
That canvas, memorial of lost sights, and forgotten voices.
â?¦Only the scream of monstrous solitude
In unfamiliar timbre, shattering the glass case of mind.
