Mnemosyne

I know what it’s like for a heart to die, 

Encased in unfeeling stone, absent promise, 

The cold kiss of the void like lead upon your cheek, 

Drawing down sorrowful eyes to gaze no more in wonder, 

Tomb-bound for fear of want, 

For want can wound, and wounds still reach us, 

Even behind formidable slabs where the ghost of love slumbers, 

Where no warmth treads, and passion is but a myth, 

Begging for fugue and succumbing still to remembrance. 

I pray thee, dwell not in the waters of Lethe!  

For I know, too, the glory of a heart reborn, 

The pall ripped away by the caress of hope, 

Whose meteoric footfalls fracture the bedrock, 

Making way for the Mnemosyne, 

Whose flow, like Pheonix flame, resurrects the pulse, 

Entreating us again to love, 

Unbounded in the face of fear, 

As though pain had never earned its name, 

And our scars spoke only of virtue. 

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