Tread Softly Because You Tread on Your Memories.

The past is a dead land;
Barren soil, skulled earth
Filled with either stitched mouths
Or pain-staking screams
No middle-ground for serenity

I wanted to bury the past
Annihilate it from my life
Imprisoning it in a sepulcher
For it to never see the light of day
To never have a visitor touch the granite
Of its last remains
Cold walls seperating it from the here and now and tomorrow
Like an ancient spell, bound to isolation
Forevermore.

But there it lies in its tomb under the willow
As I weep over the cold stone
The stench of death reeking
into my wet nostrils
Decay gnawing at me.

Thanatos, I invoke you
Come and take this panorama of madness
Dig out the crumbs of yesterday
and throw them into Hades!

Faciam ut mei memineris.

I'll make you remember me.
But if I will, one day, be yesterday's child
and when with all my brothers and sisters
I will roam the naked land of ruin
What will you remember?
I will be dead.
As dead as I can be.
Will you scratch at the wall of the sepulcher?
Will you slide down in despair?
What will you remember?

The past is a dead land;
beware, traveler,
tread softly because you tread on
your memories.

(c) Hella Grichi