How could the bitter winter forget the fertile spring,
Would the branches not remember every color of their once jealous leaves,
Or the rock remember the hands that once skipped it across a puddle - silently,
Now being hurled at death cars at the soundtrack of "God is Great" and blood cries!
Does the womb forget life, or the wound the knife,
Or words a poem spoken, giving legs to lifeless letters,
Meaningless sounds bound by hearts broken or love bound,
Suddenly, "to be or not to be" - six letters mean something endlessly.
Forgetting you, would be forgetting me -
Knots not untying only swelling up in my throat,
Truth, Love, hate, hurt welling up in my eyes with no where to go ..
Could a true heart forget where Truth starts,
Or the soul where to look when seeing ceases to be believing,
Like an itch you can't reach in the deepest depth of you,
An empty seat, a vacant throne, yearning for its Master,
So long as the soul yearns, as too will the memories linger,
As a poets pen over a page not yet ready to be turned,
Or a poem not yet ready to be read to her author,
Dear words, I shall forget you . . . not.
