This inner cry I’m familiar with.
It comes at my vulnerable best,
stays a spell.
Through memories of good and bad
Past and present
Through the right and wrong
Through apparently random
Yet connected dots of my small existence.
It takes me awash
Against shores long forgotten.
Reminds me of life
wasted and swept aside.
That I swept aside,
little comprehending my actions.
It tingles me with the precious ones,
Memories I lunge to hug closer.
During these times of draught
It dances for me,
When my legs don’t support the gusto these memories bring in.
It howls my angst
Angst at not letting a whimper escape
Emitting which would end it.
That would be the last straw.
That would be my surrender.