Memory
Like mist about the land,
Shadowing, hiding,
What you know is there.
It is not a solid thing
And yet…
It is sometimes the realest thing we have.
You cannot touch it:
Although you know it is there,
You know not where.
Tragedy and comedy
Hide in this most elusive of places
With doors open wide
Yet shut to your eyes.
Memory
With the power to bring sorrow or laughter,
Anger or tenderness
Or a dividing void.
Shelter and torment
Share the same room in
Distrustful harmony.
Holding the key to what has been
And unlocking the door to what might be.
Memory
A mess of neurons
Thrown together to form
Something beautiful
Or hideous beyond reason.
A mess of neurons
To define who we are
What we are.
Fragile and tenuous.
But in the end,
Simply memory.
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