Читать книгу In the Language of Scorpions - Charles Allen Gramlich - Страница 8

IN THE RUINS OF MEMORY

Amid the dregs of a human soul

one finds many things,

dolls and dust and empty tin whistles,

wheels off a hundred matchbox cars,

a mother’s face and a whisper of silk

that passed away

It is a world of tombs, of coffins,

filled with bones and stones and sins,

rich with places to hide

And all the scars from all the dreams

that have been given up on....

live there

They know how much it hurts

to face one’s past,

to be reminded of failures

That’s what keeps them fresh,

keeps them so quietly in wait,

till it’s time to give you pain

And you’ll never see them there,

in the ruins of memory