It's Poetry Month -- "Fleeting"

The risk you take is looking back and 

the pain in the core of the chest striking you 

so softly 

that it rips every vein apart. 

Grasping at every image with a child’s hands, 

every cell a small dimension that will live and die

And yet still managing to smile, you 

pick yourself up, 

the night managing to drag on

Your hand, 

now seven years later, 

all cells replaced, and 

none remain that your past has touched

This is when the years become weeks, 

and days turn to particles, 

such a convenience for the human mind--

Compiling and organizing, 

squashing everything together like the machines 

crush piles and piles of trash into small boxes  

Trying to remember that one moment and 

the frustration wildly aflame, 

and that question:

Then what was the point?

-Aberswyth