Life’s a river
of memory
and yearning.
I remember things.
Write them down
in my journal.
Reread them
now and then
confirming
my existence.
Forgetting
one’s past
is a form of death.
We, the old,
fear senility,
the shocking
realization
that we’re simply
the sum of
our memories.
We fear losing
our memories
more then
dwindling
of desire.