My memory unfolds and fades away,

Moments written in lines of poetry are the only feelings that stay.

​

Pain, sorrow, loss:

A sharp sting glosses into couplets at a cost.

​

The cost- who we were when we accepted less. 

It's easy to forgive; I must confess.

When the memories left with me transmute,

Into hope that there is no substitute

For what I deserve,

The same frequency in which I love and serve.