Glimpse to the past

Forgotten the quench,
She crushes the hope,

No time for the sin,

No time for the rush,

Tragedy concise
In the pocket edition
She burns the miniature
And douses sad flames

Sad flames and sad tales
As tears are willed away
The loss is ignored
Buried, spade digs,

Dirt, crunch, drop,
Dirt, crunch, drop,
She busies herself

And the task of forgetting
Becomes the task itself
Consumed in alternates
She fights the memories
And bundles aspirations
To make way for sense

And the spade digs in
Scars as she misses,
And her blood
Lets the tears
Trickle once more

Glimpse to the past
And the emotions well
Aside, aside,
She forces, begs, prays
But she buries many times
And the truth is dug up

Never buried
Never lost
Never forgotten
Never can

Scars as she misses
And her blood
Lets the tears
Trickle once more
Glimpse to the past. . .