The Unremembering

There is a difference, you see, 

Between forgetting. 

And unremembering. 

I have dreams, or dreams of dreams. 

There is the snake lady, so silvery, so green, so silky. 

She asks me, "Oh pretty boy, why do you want to be God-King?" 

I say something or other. 

She says, "Oh pretty boy, don't get distracted," 

The knight, so lost, opaque in his loneliness, ever so nearly transparent. 

"You must be what you must be!" He says. 

I say a thing or two.

"You must not wallow! You must struggle! You must walk!"

They fight.

The snake lady, she strikes his armour. Long, beautiful fangs.

He holds her so tightly. Her scales reflect his strong grip.

I leave them to their battle.

Never pausing, well, only to speak to me again. 

I wait for the drums. 

Do they fight?

I have forgotten. 

One forgets most everything, wandering through the library, the titles on the spines, strange hieroglyphs, the air, baked and cooled, the grey marble walkway, the echo of my own footsteps. 

If there is peace, it is in the unremembering.