Written in Anger

It is no longer a wind, blowing the memories of the past

much rather heavy rain, pouring down on us,

and everything streams together as a non stoppable flood.

What if I am tired?

What if I do not want to remember?

What if memories are all left of us?

I do not want to hurt any more,

I do not want to bleed,

I do not want to die nor mourn no more.

The winter chill is way too real,

so I do not want to raise my fists no more;

what if all I want is a pair of warm hands in my pockets?

The past is history

and my pounding head just refuses the pain of remembrance.

What if I close my eyes right this second,

forget history

and just feel the chill from this winter only?

The one freezing my fingers, I mean...

It hurts, you bleed, we die and you mourn;

but this is not yesterday any more.

The sun has long risen upon a new day,

and all which can bring our freezing hands out of warm pockets

is to block whatever is coming at us today...