In the gallery of my mind, I curate
A mosaic of faces, a tapestry of tales,
Each a brushstroke of my essence,
Indelible, inerasable, eternal.
No matter the paths I tread,
My mind, a loyal archivist,
Preserves every soul's imprint,
Every moment's whisper.
Others, they shed memories like autumn leaves,
Drifting away, a forgotten echo of seasons past.
But I, I am a vessel of remembrance,
Where every utterance, every silence,
Clings to me, a haunting refrain.
Life's symphony follows me,
A ravenous shadow, a relentless pursuit,
Ink-flooded narratives, permanently pressed
Into the fibers of my being.
Like stubborn stains on pristine linen,
The past lingers, an unwelcome guest,
Refusing to fade, to dissolve into the ether.
Yet, I am aware, memories are but mirages,
Nostalgia, a siren's song for a time
That perhaps never was, never will be.
Still, they are mine, these echoes,
A bittersweet chronicle of a life lived,
A heart that has loved, a soul that has felt.
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Author:
jinx9 (
Offline) - Published: June 5th, 2024 06:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
Memories can be both a blessing or a curse. As we age we seem to look into the memory box more often. It’s a question of balance. I am certainly thankful for my memories. Mostly happy and of people and times much loved. A poem enjoyed. Thank you. .
"Nostalgia, a siren's song for a time
That perhaps never was, never will be." Love it...Such a beautiful metaphor
Thank you!!
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