My Hidden Tears
Life moments, not cataloged,
wander painfully away.
A few fractured shards linger---alone,
revealing that fearsome, gray
phantasm . . . the silence of forgetting.
Oh, that hateful amnesia,
the wound and ache and scar,
that shrivels my hopeless heart
and chills me through, a north star
of only lonely defeat.
My hidden teardrops mark Despair
along a narrow trail growing rougher.
My growing brainlessness
no longer urges a buffer,
I simply forget.
When did this start, and . . .
where did I go?