Deep in the abysses of memory,
Fragments of stories lay mute.
Characters and episodes,
Flung about the chasms as if caught in a storm.
The unconscious -
The fantasies -
A hash of all this
Breeds the storm.
If every second were weighed down so,
the times would never be happy.
Why the hell,
Do I take the hash to be so depressive?
It might be gleeful,
Prayers get answered only if you pray hard enough.