Memories of those we long for and miss
linger in our minds beyond their kiss
sweet and profound like a morning iris
yet dazzling like a light in one’s iris.
Hurts that taunt our souls and hiss
haunt our minds without remiss
like an iris in the beak of a hungry ibis
daunting and painful to one’s iris.
Words so unkind uttered to a dis
belittle her beyond the words that diss.
Such a tragedy is a flowing Riss
that leaves one in total amiss.
If you asked me how to handle this
My secret is: I never reminisce.
For memory is both hell and bliss
for both who linger or reminisce.
My past choices whether a hit or miss
don’t bother my present’s bliss.
For oblivion is a conscious bliss
that dawns only on those down an abyss.