Tristis historia

Tristis historia

These words are the sorrow collective, 

each pain restricted to phrase, paragraph and sentences, 

these words are the glint of light sip through darkened clouds after the storm has passed, 

what was washed away, 

what blossomed blossomed, 

the sun shines again like nothing happened. 

What left scars you cannot forget, 

phrases thrown around this warring place that were said, 

the sun's setting gaze a constant remainder of all the happy memories turned dark, 

turned to fickle ash blown away as quickly at it came. 

You lost her, yourself, 

at your weakest point felt, 

you charged in straight ahead without a care in place, 

feel the sunflowers bleed, 

watch every single sunflower touched slowly fade away, 

like her memories of you did, 

four months to be exact.

When the Sunday rains came no more, 

she never felt herself a river abandoned just drifting in the words never said, 

just phrase, 

felt on the coldest of days.

Her words a haunting, 

his actions the death that led them there, 

their world a familiar fate, 

theirs simply a river through paragraphs and sentences and in them a deepness, a river between, darkened clouds mirror the things they feel, 

theirs a sacred place defied, 

theirs a tattooed dilemma, 

theirs a story accustomed to close nouns and regretted verbs, 

theirs a mix of red flags ignored, 

theirs a place neither wants to be in. 

In these words, the sorrow collective, 

to not have pain restricted to phrase, paragraphs and sentences. 

The scars left won't be forgiven, 

the sun's setting gaze a constant remainder that everything has an end, 

happy memories now just fickle ash blown away as quickly as they came. 

31/12/21✔️

'Tristis historia' is Latin for 'Sad story'

"Ars longa, vita brevis."