Awash in remembered sounds,
alone and clinging
to a cold, bald mountaintop.
So many tricks the brain plays to entertain itself,
to distract itself,
to soothe itself,
to forget itself.
Over and over the sights and sounds
and over and over and over the thoughts and the tragedies,
and the thoughts of thoughts of the tragedies,
and the thoughts of the thoughts of the thoughts.
Alone on a mountain silent,
plague our brains
until the sun quiets down.