Triumphant Debris

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Cleaver it anew, like a piece of meat.

Indulgent perversion?

Perhaps! Barring inquisitiveness,

Entirely! But a feeling of nostalgia.

Desire to revisit the agony, the bitterness, the tenderness.

Fascinated with the drama: life, living.

Tentatively stabbing and jabbing at the rawness of memory.

Once it had bled.

So profusely, so uncontrollably.

Like a mere spectator, an apparition even

Watched the theatrical persecution.

A claustrophobic abyss had remained then.

Unconscious and imbecilic.

Season was it? Generation maybe.

Went by.

Much mending proceeded.

However the fishing line tugs

Intermittently, reminder of the age-old ballad.

The oath! Loyal and enduring.

Nevermore concede. The debris triumphant

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