the season

it is that time of year,

it comes and goes

in waves they say.

unannounced, this is the memory,

physical and mental,

if that wordis is politically allowed

these days. in disorder, subconcious,

tide rising , lifting scum .

once realised, that it is time

again, settle back in to the season.

be known that i cannot keep things alive,

i have no power, no means of identification.

i cannot save you.

we are the living ones,

guilt and trouble feel,

this a work ongoing.

sbm.
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