If Memory Was Made of Glass

If memory was made of glass,
And I could see right through,
Perhaps I’d see it clearly: how
It’s always been with you

Perhaps then I could understand
What led you to each choice:
The demons on your shoulder, and
Your broken inner voice

But such has not been mine, as yet –
Clear-sighted memory –
And so I search these waters for
Some bit
Of clarity

Accepting

Accepting

She opened up a single empty box
That held her happy memories within,
And saw the mere projection of her hope
That had become more real than earthly him –

She sat out on the highway of remorse,
And stared out at the blue and distant sea;
Accepting, underneath the glaring sun,
The hope she’d held was just
Illusory


 

[The author of this blog would like to assure everyone that no photo models were harmed in the taking of the attached photo, I think. – Owen]

You Were Happy Then

You hadn’t come as far as you have now,
Or seen the many things that you have seen;
You hadn’t found out who you really are,
A thing you found out in the years between

But you might trade all that, and maybe more;
All those amazing places you have been –
For yes, much ignorance has been erased,
But heaven knows it:
You were happy
Then

The Weight of Memory

I woke this morning heavy in the thought
Of what it was when you were in the room;
And though these many years have changes wrought,
Your scent’s still in the air, your presence felt.

The dead still brushing by me in my day
With more of wistfulness than nearing doom:
As sense and mem’ry twine in interplay,
Amid the daily cards that I am dealt.

But how you shaped me those long years ago,
The threads of yours that weaved into my loom,
These make up who I am – and will, although
The solar heat of age my mind will melt.

I hope, amid my soul’s infirmity
That you’re not disappointed, now, with me


 

(“The Weight of Memory” – 7-14-2015)

Where The Past Goes to Hide

The years are dust
The light is now
And the room is made of riddles

The questions that get asked
When no one could expect an answer

Of why we did
The things we did
And how we casually dispensed
With friends
With time
With life

I have a secret in this room
It is my burden, alone

For while greed has its economy
And envy has its politics
Regret
Has only an attic

regrets, like the ocean

her regrets, like the ocean
in their immensity and constant turmoil
surrounded both of us –
far too real to be ignored

because i loved her,
i left her ocean undisturbed;
because i love her,
i offer only my
acceptance

we who live
live with imperfect knowledge;
we cannot know outcomes

there we sat,
surrounded by the ocean;
here i sit now,
surrounded by my own thoughts

my friend:
i do love you.
and love,
like stars that hover
high above any ocean,
does not change the water,
but give us –
if only for a time –
something else
to look at