Missing Persons

I can easily find time for it to cradle me. To fondle my ears, throat and lungs. It voices the most courageous chants. Tearing me up and ashes and dust. I whimper only the slightest. It is my father, my lover, my hand in joy. Tomorrow I will see another sun, and the morrow after that no light for the eyes. I listen closely to it's insane emotions. I'm dripping with sweat as it begins another story. One I've heard so many times before. Now I grow passionate, excited and a bit weak. Not tat that has puddles to do with it. Forgotten who I am, where I'm going. Did I enjoy weapons, chemistry, architecture or poetry? I recall... or no... I don't recall at all.