"Memory's Youth"
Reality takes the time to question, and the torrent breaks me down
as it washes away
Quality conversations recede in the distance of memory, questioning
the words and the worthiness
Hilarity ensued some summer night in a light rain
As immediacy immediately memorialized the moment of magic.
Here, as in the past, I stand alone listening to the reality ask hard
questions of time's custodian.
The sand falls ever faster through the hour glass
The pebbles of time's everlasting trickle down the mountain path
And the avalanche knocks us all unconscious
Words can't convey the reality and the quality conversations of memory.
Memory can't remember how easy life seemed so long ago during summer.
The sun set like a melon fingerpaint into the palette of pulchritude
Smearing the sincere fugues of God's happiness,
As the warm dark faded from view and disappeared.
Astute conveyors of quality
Remembrances of something holy
A summer breeze blowing the dark brown hairs of youth
And I wondered as I sat under the tree, with the book open to experience's
memory.
I wondered why the writers seemed to ache when writing youth. Were
they so old?
Was time running breathlessly into the wall, getting up, dusting himself
off and
Running breathlessly into the wall again.
Serendipity dictates that love is around the corner.
Around the corner from reality.
And spending quality conversation with a dim memory.
The body keeps going, and feeling different and betraying the youth
of memory,
When I stop and wallow in the wasted murk of memory's youth.
