Hungarian Ark

Listening to his silence is hard.
Touching and remembering is plaguing my head.
Always; always I remember and it is my curse, jarred.
I try to forget and now Kasztner is there, documented...
making me see red.

I do this.
I try not to and usually I succeed.
Usually it's an ice maiden that feels the need
shares her greed,
never takes heed...
But sometimes, sometimes...
I do this,

I envelope the mind of the man,
I capture his voice,
I carry his words
Inside my swirling head
consuming my loud and colourful pictures
that remember not only the sanctuary of our bed,
but all that was said...

It is there.
Weeping and dancing and shouting.
It is there.
Intricately inside my head.
© Prettyintelligentprincess