Yea, I have one-
a stash of gunpowder,
harbored horror stories
from eons ago
packed by ramrod
into my memory.
Every few years, my payload
explodes like it did three
years ago when I unloaded
it on you. I thought the blast
would clear the way,
but it became Krakatoa,
suffocating us.
And now, the dust has
settled, weighting my
spirit that longs to
be lifted from the past,
unburdened by the weight
of the clinging ash,
My tears do not provide
enough to wash me clean.
But, the seasons will change,
and the rivulets of rainwater
will carry away the past
in their run-off, and the
stockpiling will begin again
for the next time you
come around and act
like you care.
I’ll be ready, and
it won’t last long.
Word Play 