Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2016
A woman once told me
That when we remember something
we remember not the actual moment
but rather the last time we remembered it

A moment
at least in theory
is pure
it represents a certain truth
one that cares not for arguments
nor perspective nor point of view
if we remembered moments I wouldn't be skeptical
but we don't

I've lied before
in fact I do it all the time
I've lied to old women and girlfriends
to my father and kids on my street
whose to say I wouldn't lie to me?
A moment is concrete
but a memory?
That can be anything I want it to be

My life is a story
as is everyone else's
depending on the narrator to find meaning
in anything
What if everyday I stumble upon the answer
but it isn't the one I desire
who's to say
I haven't forgotten and tried again

What exists?
by that I mean exclusively to me
If I'm the architect of my own reality
how do I also serve as the destruction team?
What's the point of building a home
if I was always meant to sleep outside?
If a magician can actually use magic...
Doesn't he become something completely different?

Objectivity is lost on me
its well meaning contribution out of reach
I have just one tool with which to understand me
and unfortunately it's my memory
Written by
Tark Wain
  559
       ryn, ---, b e mccomb, Stxlle, The Dirty Vanilla and 7 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems