Stacks

i am afraid.

the mind holds
images
like fresh paint
on
thick canvas;
colors fade through
the years
but the pattern
constantly remains

and i am afraid.

memories build in
                    stacks,
car doors open
to bitter air
and in my mind
you are gone
(in my mind, this is how you died)
but i know
this is not so
for you
are still here
beside me

and this memory
plays me a
                   fool
whilst i sleep

and i am still afraid.

familiar walls remember
everything,
they, too, play
                  tricks
with the pictures
in the stacks
like every brilliant
line
in your face
(memorized)
even though you
are far away

the towers fell
(so long ago)
and the towers are
still falling
inside of my
mind

and i will always be afraid.


~ A. L. Stippich

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