Beside the bed a set of standing photos that nobody else would recognize. Gone into the history, memories and experience no one else would deem important to the passage of time. Yet God remembers and will ask me about how it benefitted the coming of our King. Where then too is the pain of those emotions, the wreckage of fallen dreams the forgotten stream of tears in fury, fear and loss? A man heals and though unchanged the remembered is forgotten.

How so well are you accustomed to the newfound lives? Changes fought now so aptly accepted and used for rampant birth of synapse, dendrite and axiomatic reason. Where then is the gray of so many wars against the prevalence and pertinence of on off or black, white? Where are the arguments and evidence asking for revisionist reality to save myself from battles lost against reality or daydream? how now does it not appear to matter these issues over which I bid life, liberty and identity?

Perspective, view and opinion. Voiced in moments that cannot be recalled loomed so impressive as to be worthy of ending relations. All the hours fought to save loves or familial bond that now are seen as caustic or corrosive. What truly is worthy of my vow or battle-hardened resolve? Where are the dreams and aspirations of children, elders and those things we swore against or for in our quest to float the waters? Where have the rivers flown as the horizon now clears and deserts traversed?

I cannot forget the wounds and scars upon a heart and mind. Yet, so readily into forgotten madness pour the names and characters I’ve known. How now are so very few things important? Random the faces of a past spent by a man who is unrecognizable to present. Too so few the people who have remained in peak importance. Is this my lack of faith, love or enduring bond, or just the price of life lived and mind changed by the wins, losses and forfeits essential to overcome?