Forgetting is an erosion

Forgetting

The rain poured relentlessly.
It filtered through leaves,
soaked grass; it broke
twigs, washed away
flowers.

It turned hard-packed earth into
muddy puddles—where even
a reflection couldn’t form
for the incessant droplets
shattering its surface.

*****

I can be so stupid sometimes. And such a coward.

Once, I was dared to hunt the hunter, to find the words and write, to be a poet! At the same time, I was asked, "Who is crazy enough to dare a hunter?"

Through the buzz of fear around my heart, I forgot the question and could only hear these words: crazy, fool, naive. I forgot the question Who? and more importantly, I forgot the answer: It could be me. Yes, it could be me.

So I grabbed whatever excuse I could not to respond to the dare. The distance was already there; it was only a matter of time; it's too much of a risk. Ad infinitum. Forgetting after all is a form of erosion-- destruction through time. And all I could remember is how, when one waits long enough, time destroys everything. Everything: things, places, people. Memory.

So I wrote that poem above...

But. I write to remember. And it's true, time destroys everything. But perhaps, waiting and doing nothing kills it much, much faster, and leaves you with nothing, not even memory. So, I search, and search, for the words.