You won’t remember what it means to clench

your fists in rage, to get a grip on life and flout

its claws unfazed. You won’t remember what

it means to climb those steps, to fall and fail

and rise again, to see the dimming light

of hope and feed on it. You’ll leave it all

behind, the bated days of struggle,

the anointed wounds that scarred your flesh.

You’ll live and thrive, and laugh. You won’t look back.

And just some days, resting on your bed

lingering in the light of a setting sun,

your mind will wonder what it took to live

through pains so sharp that shook your veins.

You won’t respond, you’ll close your eyes and smile.