by Richard Vince
Ink runs in perfume and tears;
Ink fades in sunlight and shadow.
Memories merge in the long ago
Long years of my younger life
Until they could be of anyone.
There were too many broken hearts,
And most of them were mine:
Back then, it was my habit
To throw them at impenetrable walls
To see if they would bounce.
The walls never asked me to do it.
It is like a puzzle book:
Names and faces on one side of the page,
Words on the other, but I can
No longer match them up.
Perhaps this is my punishment
For splitting my young soul into
So many fragments, even though
The effort of reassembling myself
Felt like payment enough.
The desire to find the echoes of
One particular voice is strong,
But I can no longer pick it out
In the overwhelming noise of youth.
Someday, maybe, I will be brave enough
To say her name again, so that
The tiny shard of her soul she left
With me can live on even now
The rest of her is gone.
Posted on 06/19/2020
Copyright © 2020 Richard Vince