Memories

Memories of, come on the wings of shadowy, rainbow coloured experiences we hang on,

to the hands of Father Time, as he carries on, while all else – history – is long gone.

Memory ticks off each moment, sends them on their way into the darkness,

for some, into everlasting perpetuation of shear starkness .

 The face of  Father Time winks, he blinks and reflects with every turn

all that we once knew, or went through – maybe ?, still yearn

for, yet we ocassionally realize that the face of Old, Father Time,

is but a mirror, reflecting what – for some – was once so sublime.

 Memories guide some into what was surly a crime.

Memories for others, take them into the poetry of rhyme.

Memories for some, lock them up, will not let them be.

Memories for the rest, have always kept them free.

Memories, sometimes are willing to let you see

that one’s life has been a great sea

of many coloured experiences to cherish,

each moment of them to relish.

 

B. J. “A” 2

October 31st, 2012