Are we the sum of our experiences, or do we choose the building blocks that define us as we age?

Why do dark times linger, causing grief long after its passing?



Once lost and forgotten

Cry...
Gone.
Forever lost.

Banished to the abstract.
An idealized reflection,
in loving memory.

Cry...
Gone.
The image, faded.

A new straw added to the hay stack.
A fragmented experience,
in loving memory.

Cry...
Gone,
in loving memory.




Poetry by mickeko
Read 805 times
Written on 2009-05-17 at 16:57

Tags Memory  Loss 

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