In the depths of my soul, where memories reside,
Lies a forgotten realm, where moments hide.
Once, I too was a poet, weaving words with grace,
But now, the verses elude me, lost without a trace.

Yesterday, in contemplation with my heart's plea,
I discovered fragments of a love once felt by me.
Yet, any forelock, any lips, any tender touch,
Evade my recollection, like whispers in the hush.

In the realm of intellect, where sanity finds rest,
The fluidity of thoughts slips through my chest.
The spontaneity of speech, once flowing free,
Now lingers beyond reach, a distant melody.

At first, the ruins were foreign, unfamiliar terrain,
And the customs of gardens held secrets I couldn't retain.
Now, the ways of their residents escape my grasp,
As memories slip through fingers, like grains of sand unclasped.

Seeking a shop of arrows and quiver, they implore,
Yet, their own body, a customer, cannot restore.
Time has brought me to this desert of oblivion's sway,
Where even your name, beloved, fades away.

Is it not enough to wander, adrift without a home,
To forget the very faces of those I once called my own?
In this state of being, forsaken without recall,
The abandonment of kinship, alas, I cannot forestall.