An Endless Knot Poem by Rifhan Miller

Time is not a vehicle that heals the wounded.
The mind is.
Time remedies by keeping it bounded,
For our pain must be muted.
So we dress it with acceptance and unacquaintance,
Compartmentalising it with impenitence,
"Out of sight, out of mind", they proclaim.
But healing is never tied with time;
It is no victimless crime,
It creates distance from a buried secret.

There is no cure from remoteness from a grave.
You'd think time whisks you away as a linear wave,
Further and further away,
From that starting point of dismay.
But where does it end? Where it's diminished from view,
Do you rest and start anew;
To discard your regrets like an expired chronicle?
Then picking up a blank slate like a past life has seized to exist?

This is where time leads: a full circle,
Where both threads meet and tie an endless knot,
All you discard greets with a merry "forget-me-not"
Anniversaries, birthdays, these cyclical landmarks.
They guide us back home, next to your erected tombstones of disgrace.
No,
Time does not wander hopelessly,
It bears an unmoving bookmark
And we don't ride on its wind to be misplaced.
Your shameful hallmarks are on display on its sidewalks.