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.