Wistful Memories
Melancholy would descibe each memory;
with so very few exceptions;
My past is baptised in total infamy;
I mostly recall my rejections.
Wistful memories enter every dream;
they’re thoughts; I cannot forget;
my failures have captured my self-esteem;
filling me with a sense of regret.
As I gaze upon the green fields of grass;
understanding; that they are surreal;
I look back; being the shortest in my class;
wistful memories have little appeal.
Lives are destined to become bittersweet;
living waters, make the grass grow;
life; the crossroad, where love and hate meet;
where everyone reaps what they sow.
Must we all recall; every sorrow; and pain;
and every embarassing defeat?
My wistful memories, pour down like rain;
at a place where guilt and pride meet.
By God’s power; memories make us cry;
with the power of love; hidden within;
such memories of failures must never die;
they fuel our resolve to start over again.
Wistful memories often bring on the tears;
disappointments, even made God cry;
only our faith can conquer all our fears;
God didn’t create love to die.
Monty 1/10/24. # 1,914