Poetry ~ I am not afraid

His mind is a dark nostalgic nest
of thoughts and images that will not rest
a shattered narrative he can’t express

Frantically he searches his muddled mind
but his memory reaper’s working overtime
plucking thoughts from his memory vine

But what of the scrapbook in his head
he sees it there but it can’t be read
the memory’s worn like a tattered thread

His mind grows quiet with each passing day
as one by one, his memories fade
softly he whispers, “I am not afraid.”

Poetry ~ The Slow Drip

Drip, drip, drip, came your words
hurled forward in time to disturb 
you left us all those months ago
but preloaded your words to explode
shattering the senses of those left behind
who no longer wondered what had been on your mind
clever, witty and riddled with rhyme
your words haunted and taunted well past your time
And your last post, so reassuring, “don’t worry I’ll be fine.”