dealing with our past

 

In the midst of thunderous gale.

A noose is loosened.

Dislodged from a ceiling.

Where the lead is chipping and peeling.

 

Stones, previously marked with similar name.

A pastime of clientele hanging on shame.

The obliged have always wondered.

Can you cremate pain?

Thus, hold onto dignified days,

and their remains.

 

A participant of curiosity’s oddity.

I, too, have queried…

What remains of the day?

And,

All the protocol that stands in the way.