Memory of a Memory

Is this dead, is this dead? Locked up inside, I thought you had wilted. As if from a depth not of years, but of centuries. I heard this voice that has cried from the wilderness of my soul. lost memory resurrected. I have turned to a common place, stirred by a longing that has been long suppressed. in this certain sense, everything else is insignificant in comparison. Not to just gratify this desire but to but to awaken my spirit. I will exchange, I will exchange, a winter's kiss for a dove.