#8 (kind of)

October 25, 2010 § 2 Comments

This poem is not new. (I know, only 8 pieces and I am already breaking the rules). Actually, this poem is at least a solid 6 years old. However, every once in a while I find myself in the same retrospective mood as when I wrote it and I like to bring it out. It is one of the few pieces that has consistently survived the brutal fate so many of my poems meet after just a few months in existence. For whatever reason, I’m still attached to it… even if it is full of awkward rhyming scheme and misplaced syllables.

Lost in Memory

Wandering through a jungle,
Pushing back the dusty leaves,
Listening too closely
Stepping carefully.
In a world you’d forgotten,
(Or a place you never knew?)
Without a destination,
Nor a guide to lead you through.

Rivers of tears rush past you
The haze of change looms up ahead,
A wind of indecision
Whirls around your head.
Distant sounds of voices
Of people you once knew
Their spirits now are captured
Forever kept inside you.

Peeking through the windows
Of a stranger’s house of lies
A gallery of paintings
Moments immortalized.
Surely not created
By the brush that you now hold
For the colors they are painted in
Are not the ones you know.

An eternal stretching hallway
Lining walls with your own paintings
Slowly moving back in time,
Stopping, thinking, gazing.
Each moment when you smiled
And each instance when you cried,
Each time that you succeeded,
And when hopelessly, you tried.

Looking back is not re-living
For the memories have changed
The eyes through which you saw them
Now see differently.
The mountains you have climbed
No longer seem as steep
And the rivers that you waded
Do not look quite as deep

The road before you darkens
It is not far you can see
The path behind you fades,
Lost in memory.
Each dip into that river
Each step along the road
Changes your life’s story
And the voice from which it’s told.

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