A Poem

Great and heavy are these chains you carry,
Of dried remorse and premature intents;
Of the footsteps one makes in the ascent.
Duration, you realize, must cease its toil.
Between the flows, you returned to the below.
You recognize that one must let being be.
Ends and beginnings coincide in the deed.

the frozen white noise static snow that is your memory
although i know we'll never meet, you're ever a part of me