Memories
Memories are the realities of yesterday;
lifted aloft, like the morning fog;
destined to return, to another today;
much like a faithful stray dog.
Somehow, memories seem etched in stone;
and, yet; we don’t want them defaced;
we often recall sad memories; when alone;
we’d prefer such memories erased.
We all like memories of times of our choice;
even tho; they too; make us sad;
some vivid memories have their own voice;
such thoughts can make us mad.
Many memories bring an illusion of reality;
an old movie; playing in our mind;
other memories, take on their own personality;
and we wished they’d be left behind.
Memories are the lessons the Master taught;
thoughts, we must always remember;
recalling everything that our actions brought;
fifty years ago; last December.
We remember when we’d laugh till we’d cry;
recalling, both the bad times and good.
Memories are the words, that shall never die;
tho, sometimes, we wish that they would.
All memories exist for a special reason;
like the leaves on my Sycamore tree;
all are destined to fall and die; in season;
better; them; than me.
Monty 6/29/24. # 2,187