Mneme

Sliding through all those minsicule loopholes that never cover, she sweeps through the cracks and seeps through the falling roofs in the cathredals of our minds. She was never granted admission to this corner of our santuary, but who can stop the pulse of thought which pulls the catch to the next storehold long forgotten. She wears us down tricle by tricle to our harrowing secrets best forgotten, best never seen. She makes us weep in the barren exposed shelters of our home and even knowing the whole world's secrets, hardly or never ignites her compulsion to shed one single tear.