Where could I go to run from memories?
They don't pursue me, for they need not run.
Wherever I have come, they take their ease
And yet are there with me, to bleakly dun
My heart, drawing an overdraft on joy.
How can I pay them? Yet my creditors
Will not be satisfied 'til they annoy
My every moment - even my editors
Of past events cannot change things enough
To make these memories repress away
For, oh, regret is made of sterner stuff
Than those who would forget their yesterday.
I cannot flee myself, for I am here
No matter if I try to disappear.
No comments:
Post a Comment