An unwelcome shock to see them again,
their faces no longer a part of the place.
His memory oiled by how things were
back then, in nineteen hundred and when?
Existence now seems full of persistent
memories, though there are false ones too.
Does he rely to much on them for what to do?
When people tell him words that chime,
should he so readily comply?
Should he trust himself to think things true?
Use his knowledge or review his ideas?
Retry those memories beyond a reasonable doubt,
seek out the false ones, chuck them out?
— The End —