What is our most prized possession
If not the chamber of memories
That we so fearfully keep
Within the confines of our minds.

Every inch of our power
Lives in a constant struggle
To guard this chest of fading treasures
From the writhing hands of time

Yet we have become so caught up
In this twisted dance
With the ticking clock,
that we have forgotten
these memories are naught
but disintegrating ghosts,
whom desperately cling to us,
as a shipwreck survivor
clings to driftwood,
hanging from our thoughts
on trembling strings
-soon to snap.

Despite all our efforts
They will never be immortalised
-and so we are condemned
to drown
in a sea of nostalgia.