I remember when I was young.

I remember the sad strangeness that could not forge

The words wretched wonder would wrench

The memory is stainless, sturdy, simple, a symbol

 

Beholden that it is now buried

but I needed that melancholy

And the knowledge I knew, or thought I knew

Fleshy words without force

 

Buried in a cemetery in ceremony

The dirt descended on that mahogany

And words would not leave it

Thought would not touch it

 

There will always be a crescendo

in my head that I cannot hear

Frothing in the foams of a fantasy

as a tide striking the shore

Tinkling trails of thought