the dead man turns into a ghost much faster
in case you happened not to know his name.
my foolish soul, the useless sticking plaster,
won’t stick the nameless thing inside the frame
of memory, and when the day has passed
a dear butterfly, so fair yet unclaimed, might be at last
just dead or gone awol. it's a relief that I might care not about its dance,
because I tend to care about all things, and it gets too intense
at times. and while I know the world is such a horror,
at times I feel it deeply, and it breaks my heart
as only would it break the heart already broken
too many times. o, blessed be the art
of just forgetting, leaving no disaster,
all of the wounds that turned into the scars,
all of the faces and the arts I could not master...
but sadly, never once could I forget the name.
Nov 21, 2025
the name
© Copyright: Арсений Андреев, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125112100772
Свидетельство о публикации №125112100772
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