I know things can never be the same I just want to believe they’ll be good will there be a scar? lifelong pain? I know things can never be the same will I limp, hobbled by memory’s blame? will I ever taste sweetness again, or just this wormwood? I know things can never be the same I just want to believe they’ll be good
Ache beats and batters like Mjöllnir, Returning to its master’s hand To hammer again while Loki sneers As each thunderous blow lands. The spear-gashes curtain the eyes And slick the sword-grip, slip the stance. Will the bear-shirts ever wear out? Will the memory-maddened trance Yield to oblivion and fade out? When will the bruises dim more than rise?
Living in a chilly Cleveland hotel–– With its quiet echoes of memories–– Has to be its own special kind of hell: Singing the blues all night can’t set you free. The old grays’ stories of kindness retell Their own sad, dusty, difficult stories. The wind as cold as Pancho makes you face The one thing you need most: forgiving grace.