Forgetting is to leave behind the joy
Of moments lived; of vows and tender grace,
Of passion’s fire and torment’s dark alloy,
And find once more one\'s self in its own place.
Forgetting is a task so hard, so rare,
The verb demands its complement, yet still,
That complement remains beyond compare,
With subject and object left apart, until
The heart shall wander, like a ship at sea,
To where the soul’s own wind may guide its way,
The heavy anchor of fate’s decree
Shall choose the course for heart to freely sway.
Forgetting is the rest of tears, a mean
\'Tween all and naught, a storm that’s calm and serene.