Like the tip of the iceberg that drips into watered down puddles,
the memories melt out from my consciousness.
Had I known that they would not linger like eternal evergreens,
I would not have let my transient temper thrash them into tiny pieces.
But I cannot see what lies ahead of me
For the mist of memories past has made me narrow-sighted
and so, I knelt and prayed while the iceberg of all that was left unsaid
became the death of me.