Fading Into The Recesses

Cracked upon the watery rock,
    brilliant, clear,
          glinting in virtuous light,
              spread out and cast beyond
                    with immortal waves of time,
                        each word growing, further apart,
                                                  from the impact.


I've never seen this place in my mind,
but I know it's there.
One image, one memory,
fractured, fading into the recesses;
I cannot coax it out anymore
                          to love, cherish,
                          radiance lacking warmth,
                          without someone to help me remember.


"Watery rock" = my brain

I’m not opposed to honoring the dead…but they can’t hear. Instead, consider those alive, idle, hanging by a thread who do have a chance to still succeed as writer.