A Field of November

A FIELD OF NOVEMBER

I stand at the edge of the forgotten place
The one no one knows to go to
I stand at the edge of the remembrance
The one no one knows to acknowledge
This time I have come in a state of peace and love
Last time I came as a raging lunatic full of hatred
Hatred of the worst and most awful kind known
And I still have not forgotten why I came here before
It is this place, this awful forgotten place I stand at
It is here where the love was once taken from me
And where the hatred was injected into my veins
I burned with an icy rage of dear November
November the day of my tragic, horrid loss
And now it is December and I have come to loss
I have come to understand my loss and my love
I have fought off the wrongs the hatred has done to me
But still no one knows where I go, why I leave
It is here that tragic day came and I must remember
For if I forget I shall go to the November again
A calendar page torn from my soul and sold to the devil
I stand at the edge of the forgotten place
The one no one knows to go to but me
I stand at the edge of the remembrance
The one no one knows to acknowledge but me

-poet Darká