In excruciating darkness
Amidst the day
Pass by quickly
Images of memories.
Will they go away?
Are they here to stay?
Heaps of the past,
All together;
Torn, crumbled, bright.
They block the view ahead
But are needed nonetheless.
Should I grab these parchments
And remain forever in darkness?
I cast them away
These artifacts of anguish.
Memory is but mere baggage
Nostalgia a vain virtue.
