Memories are not what they use to be
And is that good
Or is that bad?
Because I don’t remember things quite the same
As others who repeat the tale,
The memory was once a cloth
Patterned in a certain way
But time the magician has played a game
And embroidered patterns of intrigue.
So our histories have a different view
Where I remember a smile
Apparently we laughed so much
And sadness is now a veil of tears.
Things are bigger
More intense,
Or the pain is deeply dug,
So the release I thought I knew
Is apparently just respite.
Could it be,
The past that I have viewed with tender thoughts
Should have caused me great concern.

I think I’ll keep my memories
The way they are
The way they’ve been,
The truth I know is mine not yours
It’s been my guide down through the years,
Maybe I’m wrong in my recall
But I can live with that mistake,
And if I do you no harm
Leave me in peace
If that is what I have.
However, if I’m troubled and rightly so
I grant you leave to address my tale
With a gentle but firm hand
Words of kindness and patient resolve
Just know how deeply you must go.

3 thoughts on “Memories

  1. “The memory was once a cloth/ Patterned in a certain way/ But time the magician has played a game/ And embroidered patterns of intrigue.” What a rich line this is! Some might call it revisionist history, but I prefer your take on it, Wic!

    Liked by 1 person

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