My Day 21 poem, based on the prompt at https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-one-7/.
After a while it ceased to matter—
the things we said, the plans we made,
the memories we shared.
Time moved on.
One day, I don’t remember when,
not a single thought of you
crossed my mind.
The death of curiosity
is a strange thing.
After a while, everyone scattered—
so much for all those escapades
when nobody cared.
Soon it was gone,
the pieces rearranged,
never to fit together again.
The raider eventually fell, too.
It was only a matter of time.
The death of audacity
doesn’t always sting.
Enveloped in a space with all forms of matter,
clarity and obscurity, light and shade,
I felt the passage of time had been spared;
every tick of the clock was three times as long,
my sense of a moment strained.
But strained moments must also end,
give way for the birth of the true
or whatever fictions come to mind.
The permanence of memory
often has a discolored ring.
Why is it all the important questions
have no good answers?
(written 20 April 2022—posted 21 April 2022)
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