In memory of our greatest regret
Knelt on the ground that encases—
neglected, yet not forgotten—
the bigger chunk of my remnants:
a severed soul of fallen graces.
My claws burrow into the earth,
scratching at pebbles, relentless.
Broken nails join eons of old dirt;
hands at labor, mind distracted.
Tally all sins this soul concedes,
as sweet poetry enrobes conceit—
a grand façade to play the wronged,
betray, berate, then ignite a brawl.
In finer friends, an enemy seen;
dimes to replace shinier pennies.
These letters contain my present pleas—
I’m ignorant of your loyalties.
My soul, you’ve done more harm than good.
Janus suggested I choose, at the crossroad:
to dig up the past—sentenced to confinement—
then lay it to rest, like a brother departed.
The wild wind swirls around in loud rejoice;
forgiveness and grit—here soon they arrive.
Uplift the spirits, the fingernail’s grime;
the weak knees wobble as torn souls reunite.
Cracks of chipped mirrors the canvas beholds,
broken in places, a sigh away from implode.
Whatever happens—stay gallant, my soul.
Whatever happens—don’t abandon your post.