537. Wisps

Can I command myself forget?
A lesser yearning, just an ounce,
as steady past as moments fade
before the ceaseless seconds’ count;

That rainy days may bring a peace
devoid of longing, just blank joy,
each splashing drop massaging
away the soothing of your voice;

Can I command myself forget?
The days like whispers, poorly-pieced,
to which in sorrow I’ll consign,
and to the writings I concede;

Perfection then the past that was
where memory’s grasp is dark.

Notes:
And so I asked for the impossible, half-heartedly. No wonder why the only outcome possible left the mind lamenting.
T: 17

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