At what point does the human spirit break?
I don't mean bend. I mean break.
At what point is the damage too much to recover?
At what point do you just stop trying to start over?
At what point do you just stop trying to do anything but forget?
At what point do you take your fragmented fleshless self
and bury it deep into the earth,
hoping to never see any semblance of what once was again?
Is it this point?
Or did you reach that point long ago and are too spiritless to remember?
Is it recoverable?
I imagine not.
Not if you don't want it to be anyway.
And why would you want it to be anywhere
but nestled in the warm earth
inches away from volcanic destruction?
So far removed from those moments.
Those vital, life-sustaining discourses.
So far removed from myself. From yourself. From everything.
Even the trees.
there might be an answer
Who are you to tell me I am wrong.
I am not wrong.
There is beauty in that fissure
There is beauty in that split dawn
In those bleeding seeds of life
In our brokenness
In our never togetherness
but beauty is not an answer
even if Mr. Lawrence was not wrong
It will all be over soon enough
so we do what we've always done
We carry on
And try to remember when forgetting is easy
And try to forget when remembering won't quit