frigid flax
I wish I’d watched the world unfold
Without my name, without my hold.
No tremble in the sky above—
No shattered glass, no lost love.
The sun would rise, serene, intact,
No ripple left, no missing fact.
They’d cry a day, then shift their gaze—
New voices fill the hollowed days.
A joke, a drink, a night, a bed—
So swift the living bury dead.
No monument, no final song—
Just dust that never mattered long.
I was a whisper in their ear,
A fading hum they cease to hear.
Now gone for good, not tragic—clean,
Like I had never touched the scene.
They’d clear my name from every shelf,
Then speak of me to soothe themselves.
But deep inside, they’d never ache—
Some ghosts are just too small to break.
And I, who begged to just belong,
Would learn the dead don’t linger long.
Forgotten quicker than the pain—
A fleeting shadow in the rain.
frail scroll
prime belfry
winged mantle