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I'm burnin' way my memories | so cataclysmic I could sneeze

I'm burnin' way my memories | five minutes shaking at my knees

A nightmare ash-filled full of fleas | the pain it withers as I breathe

Burnin' way my memories | as they're my only friends

-

So don't forget to memorize | kiss and tell on Satan's thighs

Close your breath and hold your eyes | grab your stick and circumcise

"How can our moon rope the lies?" | hidden message in disguise

Metaphors that hide in rhyme | burnin' way my memories

-

Oh jet black hide of socrates | snap the bones of all that see

Idle thoughts bring enemies | I'm burnin' way my memories

-

Memories of the past | eaten out to death

Addictions wreak seek it all like soylent
green made ****


Narcissistic cares ensuing | sunset flaring ends

"**** your rules sergeant boy,"| your cancer feeds my trends

-

Oh little box of memories | I'll love you 'til the end

Burning way my memories as they're my only friends

Another memory to fade | is sitting in my hand

-

So I think I got it memorized | ashen cheeks demoralized

Final warning realized | you hear the sound of children's cries

Blow the smoke into their eyes | slice her **** • laugh as she dies

It stings while the cell multiplies | burnin' way my memories

-

So I'll tear down my memories | tattered past not valiantly

Flu shot mind slave colony | man made moon conspiracy

See the towers fall for free | not a line for creativity

Call it common courtesy| burnin' way my memories

-

I'm burnin' way my memories | fire mountain soaked debris

Burnin' way my memories | squirmin' with choice entities

Torchin' flamin' memories | the skies erupt with skin disease

Burnin' way my memories | I'm on my one last friend

"Fallen box of memories may contain one trend".

Welcome back my memories | I am all out of friends

"**** it up with gasoline and torch em to the end".

Wheeze and choke, expel the smoke, but do it all again

"Can't explain," unfathomed shame

forever
to the end


-
First Love is funny
Like a burning ring
We all fell into it once
Memories Memories

Time ago
Young in age
Tender in heart
Just like in the garden
I wanted to touch the apple

Just the next street
Yet my bath must be long
Had no real beard
Wonder what I was shaving
Armpit cleaned like a desert
Nails cut to shape
Memories Memories

Shirt ironed repeatedly
Trousers checked for unseen tears
Day before
Only shoe shined to new.
Hair line brought to shape  
By my mum used  tiger razor
Memories Memories

Vasselin on my face
Power on my neck
Perfumed ear
To make complete
Memories Memories

Mirror Mirror
How do I look
Turning Turning
Looking Looking
The boy must be perfect
To met his presumed perfect girl

With a novel in hand
A nappe in the other
The boy  good to go
Certified by my coach
Unseen shadow accomplices

Bold and calm
Queens and polished
coach gave order
Tell her she is not beautiful
But pretty
Tell her she is not a girl
But an angel
Tell her she is not now
But the future

Whistle blown
I marched forward
Be calm be calm
My shadow kept saying
Target in sight
Worrior on the March
Memories Memories

At the junction of battle
Without rain
Was covered in sweat
Had a quick look backward
My shadow had disappeared
queens refused to be fluent
words of love had flew away

Smiling was i
Cleaning my sweat
Opening my novel
able to ask for her note
Last assignment of Saturday
We don't school on Saturday
Memories Memories

Prayed for rapture
Even though I new
will end in hell
Any other thing
My hunted  asked
No! no!! no!!!
The hunter said
Hunted standing
Hunter running
Memories Memories

Now in a corner
Waiting for my scar to heal
****** up my coach said
Thanking God I came alive
Even when the battle was lost
Memories Memories

Love is like a burning ring
We all fell into it once
Memories Memories
    And
Memories
Adan Taylor Jun 2015
Redemption
The longer that you are with someone the more memories you collect.
Blowing the mind kills the membrane by making them explode.
Bursting through the wall making my memories.
I have been running all over.
Just bounce.
Time is running out I am about to explode.
Dumbstruck walking through the door making our memories.
Restrictions will be by passed.
Your door to your heart will be broken and blown away.
All I can do is get ready to explode.
All my memories will be gone, but tell me you won't forget me in your memories.
Old friends became my new friends.
Busting through the door trying to run around in circles.
I always thought I was to bold to save you.
All I want to do is chill out, but the flames to hell are burning me.
I want a ride to civilization, but the only ride I get is a ride to  death.
I try and catch myself, but it is always too late.
My memories will be gone and so will you.
My memories our memories.
A pool of blood will separate us.
I don't want to be left alone in the dark.
I won't back down from my memories.
I'll be confessing on the sins of my life when you leave me.
I am the background when you have no one.
I won't get in the way.
I won't surrender until you leave me.  
I will never leave my memories until I am dead.
When I need to know my fears I look in the mirror.
The qualifications you gave to me to keep you I will keep until I die I said, but you left me dead.
Nothing exist without the power of love and hatred.
I put all my growing pains aside to see my memories again.
My strange growing pains have killed the people I loved and the things I loved.
We all have the growing pains but God brings growth through are pain.
Revenge I heard of you.
I used to hold a grudge against you.
I use to trip over it.
I used to be young asking all them questions.
I am sorry for putting the blame on you.
It was my fault.
Trying to find myself it was so hard.
I can’t explain the pain that I felt, and I can't imagine what kind of fear and pain all this stuff put you through I am sorry.
The new man is supported by the memories of you being there for me.
The memories I hold are mine and your forever.
You are looking at someone who just died and came back to life.
If it wasn't for you I would be dead still.
All my mercy forgive me.
For if you still leave me I will be here confessing on the sins of my life.
For the memories of you are forever with me now.
The identity that I had wasn't me, I don't know who that was.
I am not you, but I really am sorry for dying and almost losing all my memories of you.
Until then I will be confessing on all my sins in life.
Xander Apr 18
500 memories, that I can see.
500 memories, that I believed.
500 memories, all of the time.
500 memories, that remind.
500 times,that I have failed.
500 trials, to no avail.
500 moments, lost to the sea.
500 memories, mean that much to me.
500 memories, 500 times,
500 memories, none of them mine.
500 moments of joy, that I’ll never see.
500 reasons, the “joy” of being me.
500 regrets, 500 mistakes.
500 people, lost to time.
500 times, I was forgotten.
500 times, and each one hurt more.
500 memories, is all that I have.
500 memories, and a painful laugh.
500 memories, all of them sad.
500 memories, I hope you’re glad.
500 memories, and a ruined life.
500 memories, all full of strife.
500, hours of stress.
500 moments, was all it took.
500 memories, stuck like a hook.
500 memories, and a painful past.
Pierre Ray Mar 2012
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,

plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories

abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects

rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Riiyyaa Nov 2019
Memories
For all you know one accident can  last forever
Good bad ? Worst best? Good best?
Every accident leaves a mark
But some accidents just leave memories
Memories that make you want them
and Memories you create each day unknowingly
Memories That make you smile
And memories that build a conversation
Memories that you love
and each one of them spread warmth across your face
Memories of your happiness
And Memories of your favorite flower
Memories can be big or small
But always remember
Memories are what you make of them!
You can take a bad accident to make a good life learning memory
Or you can take a happy accident to make a bad  depressing memory
Memory is your thought
And what you make of your accidents
Are your memories
That will make you smile or dehydrate your body
You can make the decision
And always make sure to think twice before you make Memories
Nicole Rountree Apr 2017
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
Smells of the food cooking in the kitchen
Family gathered— ready and at attention
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
I remember when we used to play in the park
I remember when our Grandma told us to be in before dark
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
Sounds of laughter at Christmas time
I remember when we used to wait up for Santa
We were threatened with pepper in the eyes
Remember that?
Scared into sleepiness because our young minds didn’t know any better
With the morning sun, we rise and shine to open presents together
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
I remember these memories represented our close knit bond
People grow
People change
I guess it’s naivety to think it would forever stay the same
It’s the memories we cherish and should hold them close
Keeping the people near and dear that we love the most
Because there will come a time when the reaper must stake his claim
We never invite him, but it doesn’t matter because he already has the name
He may come in quick or take his time, but when he comes it leaves us blind
Blinded by hurt
Blinded by pain
Blinded by the fact we will never see our loved one again
Blinded by the new memories of a new type of hurt—a new type of pain
Then the memories overflow and fill the frontal lobe-the part of the brain where memories and speech are controlled
You become speechless because you become filled and overwhelmed with the loss
Family comes together to comfort each other  
You haven’t seen some in years—it’s been so long since you’ve seen them you want to burst out in tears.
Kids have grown and don’t look the same
So handsome and beautiful, but you don’t remember their names
That’s how long—how long it’s been
Again, it’s a shame.  
You ask, “Why does it take death to bring the family together again?”
Then, in an instant, tears begin to form in the wells of your eyes
You realize how things have really changed and you don’t quite understand why
So many memories they tend to cloud my mind
I remember that there is a need to change the timeline
I remember when I decided to finally say
Don’t let the family, your blood, fade away
Embrace each other
Love each other
Motivate each other
Cherish each other
Protect each other
Keep each other
Continue to make memories—no matter how old we get
Make sure the family remains close knit

Yep, so many memories they just tend to cloud my mind
Family should always be together—until the end of time.
Manic Brilliance Jan 2017
My memories deceive me, and my heart bleeds to thoughts of
      you, poisoned from the curse that runs deep within my veins.
      Do I halter and use the words that I can, to try with you,
      another chance?
    

      My memories deceive me, and my mind is headed to a paradox of
      life that doesn't bring happiness but only a subtle feeling
      of contentment. For in my memories you are with me in a
      final, never ending dance.
    

      My memories deceive me, as the bewildering cries from within
      awaken the soul that has been bound by chains created from
      the sins of my past life, and are made stronger by the sins
      of which are my own.
    

      My memories deceive me, as the rumors of your betrail fade
      into the shadows but the calling from our hearts reach into
      the light, violently, yet no sound have they shown.
    

      My memories deceive me, trying to hold them back, all that
      accomplishes is bringing you into my senses once again, but I
      go forth to a different land with what could have and should
      have been.
    

      My memories deceive me, chased by an altered state of mind
      where nothing has gone wrong, no death, no pain, just the
      feeling of contentment once again.
    

      My memories, they deceive me and everyone around me, for I do
      not see faces, only souls that fade into surroundings. A
      paralytic view is what they show, of what should have, could
      have been you and me.
    

      My memories deceive me, but could they instead be the truth
      that I have been seeking as I try hard to sink them in
      deeply...

      My memories. My memories, immortal as they come, they open my
      eyes, though they burn like facing the sun, in this time I
      have begun, to realize my memories. They do not deceive, but
      only conceive the past that I have forgotten and shields me
      from...you.
Alan Brown Jun 2016
Memories, memories,
Demons destined to remind!
Memories, memories,
Extricate them from my mind!

Alas! They echo toward me
As ripples in the brain.
Evoked by love and roses
They prickle me insane.

Oh, I remember…

The hour summons a restless, withered afternoon
During which I succumbed to ravenous decay.
I desperately chased feelings like an unhinged loon,
Swifting through my pond in fear, panic, and dismay.


Impeccable beauty
& fanciful expectation:
I was thwarted by both.

Each summoned its own
Distinct, rolling shadow.

Oh I remember…

I was washed forth by whistling tides of tomorrow,
Clinging to a heart I could not own or borrow.
My feelings, whisked in transit, dizzied by the fray,
Yearned for second chances to conquer yesterday.


Gelid gloom would
Permeate my heart,
Tearing me apart.

Haunted by a feeling
I could not possess,
I drowned in
Darkness.

Oh I remember...

Loneliness was chronic; slowly it tapped time;
My life become a poem lacking voice and rhyme.
As silent afternoons would coalesce into years,
My dreams burst into smoke & hope thawed into tears.


Memories, memories,
Are nothing more than that.
Memories, memories,
****, ****, ****!

I do not wish to remember,
But dare not to forget
Moments that once plagued me:
Moments I regret.

No matter how strong be my will,
These memories will haunt me still.


**Oh how I wish not to remember...
jeffrey conyers Jun 2013
Memories.
Sweet memories.
Well, least to me.

Like the first puppy I ever had as a child.
Who played like he was a baby child?
Who knock you down?
When you were  running around.

Yes, memories.
Sweet happy memories.

Memories.
Yes, yes those good memories.
When you first see your mother smile.
Or hear the first words of understanding from your child.

Or time spend with your dad.
A bond that's so different than being with your mother.
Especially, if you're a male child.

We all have them.
Even , if they just dormant.
You might think they are gone.
I guarantee you.
You would be totally wrong.

Oh, memories.
That arises during certain occasion.
Some sad that eventually makes you smile.
Especially, if the one you thinking about isn't around.

Yes, memories.
Sweet , sweet memories.
For grandparents, parents and all relatives of a child.

Graduation.
First job.
Marriage.
Birth.
Death, which always hurt.
Divorce, especially if you didn't have a choice.

Friends.
Which sometimes comes, from enemies that many once were.
Yes, these are memories.
Sweet memories.

Like a photograph book.
Which is way different than an image on a phone.
You can turn through pages quicker.
To get to the picture you want.

Even, if you've been hurt.
If you look past the pain.
You'll find only good standing before your face.
Memories
Memories To Love
Memories To Hate
Memories To Cherish
Memories To Forget
Memories To Avenge
Memories To Forgive
Memories To Share
Memories To Hide

With So Many Memories
With So Many Thoughts
With So Many Ideas

But Still
Why Are You Missing In My Life?
Why Am I Lost In This World?
Why Do I Feel So Hollow And Empty?

I Don't Want To Be Left Alone With Memories Forever!
All I Want Is You To Be With Me! ! !
Wyatt Aug 2016
It'd cost millions
in endless renovations
to make the broken home
inside my head a happy one.
I've got furniture blocking up the front door,
I can barely see sunlight shining through the blinds.
Boxes of stuff I never touched for years
lining up near the basement floor.
I've got
memories,
memories,
memories that I want to stay distant memories.
I've got stuff nobody wants,
you could call them cheap hand-me-downs.
People get high and mighty when they're growing up,
testing the limits to their control, what lives they can touch.
Once we fall on our faces we learn though,
the issue is some people don't fall on their face nearly enough.
I've got
memories,
memories,
memories that I wish I could burn in a fire.
We've got
enemies,
enemies,
but we wouldn't have them if we were brighter.
Let it get to me, let it get in my head.
Give them love...or give them anger instead?
This place is all messed up,
and I don't think I'm gonna change
any time soon.
I've got
memories,
memories,
memories that I want to stay distant memories.
I've got stuff buried deep inside my head.
I won't show you, you can have a lie instead.
Willie Dec 2011
I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
Not in a sad time, not stuck in a place of hurt.
I just feel like I can't remember the good times to weigh the worth.
These new times, are something hollow, empty and void of feeling
No sleepless nights, but I find my self always staring towards the ceiling
So revealing, makes me notice my true emotions deep inside
Always telling jokes and laughing but right now we rewind.

I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
People say memories fade, others say memories last
I'd like to think that I could leave memories in the past
I don't want to cling to them like that's the only thing I have
But is it really bad? I guess you can say I'm home sick
Not missing my residence but missing where I've been
Reminiscing about the things that I have left on my journey
But they're not on their deathbeds, they're just on a gurney
Now do I save them, make sure that they are never forgotten?
If they start to fade for new memories should I stop them?
I feel like I need to answer quick, like I'm running out of time
I could keep stressing but right now, we rewind.


I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
I miss the days where I didn't have to miss my days
Where I could express myself in different ways
But this is today. Prattling words to my self
Not sharing my feelings, not sharing the wealth
I vent in stealth, not letting all the friends of me hear it
As if I'm ashamed, like I think my enemy is my spirit
You're hearing me in these lyrics, I'm embodied in the words you see
This is me in these lyrics, feelings and words, you see?
So if you're feeling my words, that means you're feeling me
So if you think that I'm a clown, this is the realest me
So this is real you see, no false words from the mind
I could keep on going but right now, we rewind.


I think about old faces, you were a friend to me then
I try to think harder though, where have those memories been?
More faces coming through, sticking less with every pass
I can't say that I would hope that these new memories last.
Where does the time go? I feel it slipping by me
I feel like my biggest problem now is I keep rewinding
So you may find me, reminiscing about the time before
Or catch me on a good day and I'll be rhyming more
Keeping myself in good spirits, while I find the path
Watching my life just add up, because well, life is math
Memories fade, because we subtract those things from the past
But it only happens to us, because we have something to add
So nothing is bad. Memory? I'll live all the good times with it in me
How much space do I have for the good times? Infinity.
No more time to rewind, I guess I have nothing left to say.
I guess the only thing left to do now is. Press Play.
Rajinder Sep 2018
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress  
desecrating the sacred.

Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.

Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow  
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.

Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.

In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.

Lurking behind aches  
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.

Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.

Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.

Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
A Thomas Hawkins Oct 2010
Unshared memories,
is there anything that’s worse?
Unshared memories
separations final curse

Unshared memories
highlights of yesteryear
Unshared memories
bring to my eyes another tear

Unshared memories
of us dancing in the rain
Unshared memories
just one more “never again”

Unshared memories
of the way we used to laugh
Unshared memories
become the painful aftermath

Unshared memories
at least no more with me
Unshared memories
now he’s where I used to be
ryyan Jun 2010
Memories fade, memories run,
Memories drift away into the setting sun
Memories hide, memories are the only thing that marks our time.
Memories lie, Memories hurt,
Memories make our worth inside.
Memories are hard, memories make us who we are.

So build me up and break me down
I swear I’m gonna get out of this town.
So break me down and build me up
I’m telling you I’ve had enough.
Our lives our worth more than this.
I refuse to believe were just accidents in space.
we’re made to love, yet we create so much hate.
yet we chose to forget as the generations change.
Leielani E Oct 2013
Memories were made specifically for certain people
Their memories were planned out from the beginning
They would have friends and family beside them, and laughter that would
Float up from their hearts up through their mouths and into the universe
These memories would forever be captured into the person's brain
And there are some memories for others
That aren't for me
Memories that I am so close too
And some that cast a distant shadow over me
I love to build new memories
It gives my life joy and that deep heartfelt laughter
I get those memories sometimes
And they are the best times I've ever had
Memories like those are the ones I will treasure most
The ones I will tell my kids and grandkids
The ones the universe will know as Leie's memories
They will never be forgotten
They will not be pushed aside
They will forever stay my
Memories...
This is something personal to me as is all of my poetry. I feel very compelled to write poems like this when I am especially lonely. Right now, I have a sense of liberation and relief.
Danial Suhaimi Jan 2017
MEMORIES WE MADE
TOGETHER
STILL LINGERS IN MY HEAD
MEMORIES WE MADE
STILL MAKES ME LONGING FOR YOU
MEMORIES WE MADE
STILL MAKES ME WISH YOU’RE STILL HERE
WITH ME
MEMORIES WE MADE TOGETHER
WILL NEVER GROW OLD
MEMORIES WE MADE
WISHING THAT I COULD TURN BACK TIME
MEMORIES WE MADE
STILL HAUNTS ME
MEMORIES WE MADE
FILLS ME UP WITH GUILT AND ANGST
MEMORIES WE MADE
REMINDS ME OF PROMISES WE MADE
MEMORIES WE MADE
MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A FOOL
MEMORIES WE MADE
WAS ALL LIES
The sound of drizzle on the rooftops brings back memories.
Memories of the years
that leave a few tears
beneath your eyes.

Sometimes it is astonishing
when you realize
how quickly time flies.
It takes you on a roller coaster ride
over the sharp edges of life.
Along the way you experience precious moments
that make you appreciate life.
Some moments of laughter,
some moments of tears and
some spent in melancholic thoughts.
These moments often transform into memories.
Memories of the times you spent,
the faces you saw
and the battles you fought.

When you hear the sound of raindrops
drizzling on the rooftop.
Sometimes it brings back memories.
Memories of those years
that often leave a few tears behind.

After all, what are we without these memories?
Mere mortals made of space dust and mundane miseries.
We go through life, dealing with both loss and gain.
All those transactions can't be repeated,
but the memories will always remain.

So rain, fall harder tonight
and bring back those memories.
Memories of the moments
that provide us an escape
from a life of mundane miseries.
Just something I thought of in a fly. I hope you like it. As usual, I leave it open to your interpretations. It is pretty simple and straightforward anyway.






Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2020.
All Rights Reserved.
Fawaz Mar 2018
What if i told you i was a part of a dark twisted fantasy

That made me live my whole life in agony

Took my pure heart and even took my sanity

A young boy facing this brutality


These are my childhood memories
These are my childhood memories
These are my childhood memories

What if i told you there was nothing to do

and I couldn’t even stop it even if I already knew

Took a look at my arm and it was slowly turning blue

I had bruises on my body but nobody has a clue

These are my childhood memories
These are my childhood memories
These are my childhood memories

I sometimes wish i can erase history

I sometimes wish he was dead so i can scream victory

I sometimes wish i could put a gun to my head to end this misery

I sometimes wish he never parked behind that factory


These are my childhood memories
These are my childhood memories
These are my childhood memories
alan spivey Jun 2013
Memories, just faded memories
                                                                                                                                        By alan spivey

Looking out my window, Eleanor is playing on the old rope swing that’s hanging down from the old oak tree.
Mary is walking up the steps from going into town to open my front door. The horses are whining and ready to rest from their long   ride. The carriage so black and shiny stands there with pride.
The Calvary just passed on their way to who knows, since I can’t move to see what’s going on, my bones are crackling I am getting old.
Memories, just faded memories,
Eleanor isn't there  the swing has fallen years ago the old yellow ribbon  Mary tied  for her husband  who never came back home only a little piece  still shows on that old oak tree.  
My doors swing open and closed with the wind, my window has since been broken. I ..  I still see Mary and Eleanor but they never come through my doors or play on the old  swing.
They just fade away like faded memories.
I am  old my bones are crackling  I am falling down  more often for I am their house I am whom Mary’s husband made for her before he  went to war.
Memories, faded memories
md-writer May 2019
I have no doubt
           that I have seen
                                what it means to love.

all my life it has surrounded me,
the aura and the action
             both entwined as one
                             divinely-fueled
                                                         activity -
both the savor and the sacrifice
of love.

Mother, father,                                    
hear a son rejoicing in the magic
                   of your love
for me, for all the children                
(and their offspring, too)
but more - much more than that,
the love you celebrate today
                             as man and wife united
in the pattern of Christ's love.

Today is a day of memories,
memories that only two
can share,
memories that span for longer
than the days I've walked
                  this earth;

memories of love's first gentle stirring,
in the blush of tender youth,
when sweethearts stood with beating
                     hearts, and eyes spoke more than
                       words;

memories of longing to break down the miles
between,
to close the distance, holding close,
                                      let come whatever will...

memories of certainty, of love's sweet, calm assurance
in the moment that you knew
                   without a shadow's doubt
                     that
                                  "I will always love you"

memories of rings and things, of wedding
               preparations,
                      of whirlwind moments bringing every
                               detail into orbit;

memories of love itself, the tender,
                  sweet communion
       blessed by God above and fruitful
         beyond what man can tell;


memories of love maturing, growing
as you grew,
memories of memories, of standing
strong and true...

these memories are yours alone,
             the precious bond you share,
                        the sacrifice of willingness,
                                 to live for more than you.

Mother, father,                                              
hear a son rejoicing in the magic
                       of your love
in the strong and steady sacrifice
you've lived out day by day;
one for the other, the other for the one,
and both in heart united
as you seek and serve
the One.

Mother.                                          
Father.                              
Today you remember the past,
                       rejoice in the present,
                          and hope for the future;

and I, from the outside looking in, on lives
so, so well-lived...                    
                            ...I weep the joyous tears of one who
                                                sees the Savior
                 in your love.
on their 38th wedding anniversary
Ruthie Harrison Nov 2013
Oh, why do I sit here staring into my screen wasting my time when I've lived such a life? I look around me and see nothing but memories. Memories. Filling the walls, living in not just photos hanging on the walls but in the books. Bent pages reminding me of when I was younger and used to bend them despite what the librarian told us all before we checked out our first books. Memories in the knick knacks on my shelves, telling me stories that only I can hear.

Stories of when I was little and my grandfather bought me a tiny glass frog with a crown on its head to sit on my shelf and be my prince. Memories in my pallet. I feel the layers of paint caked onto and into the wood displaying different colors and mountains of texture from the years of dried paint, years of dried ideas and creativity that were thrown onto various canvases and papers, also hanging on my walls screaming memories, memories, memories.

  My life has been nothing but them. For after one moment passes, it is only a memory, yes? Just think, if every moment is to only be transformed into a memory, that could be forgotten, or disguised as a useless object on your shelves or your walls, why waste them? For objects grow dust. But my life should not.

  I will dust my memories off and bring them to life. I will start living, making memories out of every moment and not wasting them. And every day I will dust them off and keep them clean, remembering the wonderful life I have lived.
False memories
Of what used to be
But you’re not the hero
I believed

False memories
Playing in my head
Silence deafening
I wish I as dead

I don’t know how these memories
Came to be
All I know is
They can leave

False memories
Are haunting me
Telling me lies
Burning me

False memories
Of times gone by
You standing there
Saying goodbye

I don’t know how these memories
Came to be
All I know is
They can leave

False memories
Stealing this life of mine
My last memory
Is running out of time

False memories
Let’s burn them down
I won’t stand here
And let myself drown

I don’t know how these memories
Came to be
All I know is
They can leave
Shaw Hovsk Dec 2016
Not a day in your life, war have your eyes witnessed
You lay safe, secure, in your ignorant pocket of peace
But their memories play before your eyes and their nightmare dance on your eyelids
The chop of the fan blades remind you of the planes, menacing overhead and dropping fire from the sky
The popping of kernels from the microwave wring forth panic-- Duck! They’re shooting! Duck for cover, you fool!
The book, it merely fell, but was it truly a book? Or was it the boom of an artillery cannon?
Screams of glee mingle into screams of pain. Your best friend, why don’t you reach out and save him? He’s only a few yards away. He’s in such pain, don’t let him die alone. Don’t let him die like this. Don’t let him die.
Stepping in the puddles makes your skin crawl. You remember their blackened skin, rotted flesh. You step out of the water quickly.
The open water is calm. Peaceful. Under the surface you can see them, the submarines. You move away from the shoreline.
Your friend, hugging you from behind-- it’s their hand, just their hand. There was never a knife. They are your friend. Or are they?
The memories. They’re not yours. Whose are they? Why do they tremble like tenor in your mind, ingrained in your DNA?
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
The jungle, the desert, the forest, the wasteland. You’re not there, you were never there.
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of cracking rawhide and dirt. You were not there, this is not your reality. That white jacket should not make your breath hitch! That burning cross should not terrorize you so!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of fabric stars and canvas trucks. You were not there, this is not your reality. That red armband should not make your breath hitch! That fire should not terrorize you so!
Not a day in your life has this world brought its ugly head to look you dead in the eye and breath upon you, noxious breath liquefying your lungs and dissolving your eyes.
You are safe-- that blood on your hands is not real-- you are safe-- this is not your reality-- how it terrorizes you so!
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are theirs, their memories, and you see them every time you close your eyes.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are not yours and they never will be.
Terry O'Leary Jan 2014
I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(the reasons why you’ll never know),
whisked away in winter’s winds, your sleeping sighs remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Well, I’ve often made my way
within the dark before the day,
but it’s never that I’ve ever felt this lonely.
So I leave this parting note,
the first farewell I ever wrote,
though these lines embody more than farewell only.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll find you’ll never know,
concealed in clouds of untamed clover, tussled hair reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Alas, my love has grown too strong
for I’ve lain with you so long
with your every need perceived, though never spoken.
’n as I try to disengage,
I’m like a tiger in a cage,
hesitating ’fore a padlock hanging broken.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(across a bridge you’ll never know),
to quench abandoned burning hills, your yearning lips remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Should you wake and shed a tear
finding me no longer here,
save your weeping for another, not so ghostly.
’n if you scan the spangled sky,
as you ache when asking why,
realize ’twas really you I wanted mostly.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(reshuffling cards you’ll never know),
defying fate beneath the stars, your diamond eyes remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Shun the shadows in the late
disappearing through your gate,
aghast and groping through their early morning sorrows,
like the echoes of my thought,
flitting, fleeting, overwrought,
as reflected in the realms of vague tomorrows.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(’n what I’ll see you’ll never know),
pursuing pebbles on a beach, your freckled nose reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Should you glimpse a troubled form
within a restless ruby storm,
turn your collar 'gainst the wind and never follow.
For by then it’s much too late
(yes the distance far too great)
and you’d only find the feathers of a swallow.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(along a road you’ll never know),
adrift on half-forbidden paths, your slender back reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Should you yearn once more to tease,
unleash your breath upon a breeze
’n let the whispered winds of yesterday caress me,
and perchance recall the time
(when our love was in its prime),
I relied upon your laughter to possess me.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(’n it’s so hard you’ll never know),
entwined in twirls of fortune’s wheel, embracing arms remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Once I was yours and you were mine
sipping pearls of purple wine –
except these haunting hints, there’ll be no spectres chasing.
’n if the flashbacks grow acute,
I’ll strum the strings upon my lute
subduing bygone ancient ghosts, still standing, facing.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll hear you’ll never know,
though echoed in a thousand drums, your throbbing ******* remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Well, the candle by my side
has now melted down and died,
though its fire blazes on within the mirror.
And the clock behind the door
is throbbing, pounding with a roar,
as my moment to depart approaches nearer.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(along a shore you’ll never know),
engulfed in deep and distant tides, your restless thighs remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

But I’ll take along the ring,
the one you carved for me in spring,
though it journeyed as an orphan on my finger.
And I’ll hang it from my neck
while I ***** a lonesome trek,
as a keepsake of your ardor, while it lingers.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(’n what I’ll see you’ll never know),
immersed in fields of flowers wild, your amber eyes remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Now I’ll kiss your sleeping eyes
ere I mount the blushing skies
as I bid farewell, adieu, in morning’s splendour.
Then I’ll fade within the haze,
immured in miles of my own maze
as I wander, breaking chains of love’s surrender.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n when I rue you’ll never know
the pulsing passions of the past and shadows that remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
till the phantoms start a’ fading far behind me.
Ella Jackson Aug 2014
These memories I tried to burn from my brain by lighting
         cigarette by cigarette.
       Hoping that one day the smoke would cloud what memories remained of you.
         Memories of you and I
         Stuck in my brain
         Like stars stuck to the landscape of the sky.
         These memories that bring so much pain are the ones that not even the rain could wash away.
         Memories which sent warning signals to my nerve endings and set my body alight.
Memories which couldn't be eroded away, even with the strongest of acids.
These memories are positively stuck.

When I wake up from dreams of you
I begin my day with thoughts of you
All these tragic memories that haunt me day by day
Sending shivers up my spine.

Not just memories of you
But memories of me
My little reminders of the many pains of life

The only thing that could hurt me more than you
Is the pain of the memories of who I once was
The things I once did
And the person I will never be.
©Ella Jackson

Feedback would be the most wonderful thing to receive ever, please? :)
Bhill Apr 2019
Memories are the there to help you get through
Memories are there, to remember many and few

Memories are critical, I truly believe
Memories are there, for us all to retrieve

Having memories from the past, is an honor I feel
Make the best of that honor, as memories are real

I understand, that some memes are not pleasant
Take the good with bad and make room in the present

Remembering, the memories, can take you away
To places long forgotten, with friends from yesterday

Don't forget all the memories, and cherish each one
Having them at the ready, will give life a good run...

Brian Hill - 2019#96
Inspired by the memories I have...
Looking back and reliving the memories, or walking down memory lane, inspired this poem...
Memories, nothing but memories
It is over now.
Time to cross the light and set my spirit free.

Once in a lazy afternoon
A door opens to a new wonderland
Another fairytale to tell
A man white and shining
Has captured a damsel laying on the floor.
He is her perfect prince charming
Memories this is nothing but a memory.

Beauty in the coffin,open your eyes
From this Charming's kisses, you'll be entice.
I will break the spell.
I will take you out of hell.

Memories, nothing but memories.

My friend. My lover.
My savior. My everything.
Let's be together, and live happily ever after.
Together let's be Gods.
With you and me, we'll survive all odds.
Memories, nothing but memories.

Same scars, same wounds.
In the forest we will fight those hounds.
Prince in a white and shining armor
Together we dance in glamour.
Memories, nothing but memories.

A kingdom we've built
With every drop of blood and sweat
Has somehow turns sour
On each passing hours.
Memories, nothing but memories.

On her's
On the damsel's
On the princess'
On the queen's
On my mind.

Slowly these things passes
As my body fades and turns translucent.

*Gone amongst the wind.
These mem'ries I keep.
Just my thoughts on a life being forgotten.
Jonesy Dec 2017
I once had it all,
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.
I once stood tall,
Unaware that I was marking my own fall,
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.
My fate was ringing and I ran too fast to answer the call,
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.

I'm not a verbal person,
But just hear me out,
It's not you, I'm the reason I had doubts.
Now let's make this clear,
It was a nice love affair
That ended too soon
But I'm the one to blame for its sudden fall
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.

What can I do,
I don't deserve you,
But I don't know what to say,
But if I may,
Will you please stay?
Ugh, I'm sorry
My feelings are a brick wall
Writing this poem is like understanding a brick wall
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.

I once had it all,
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.
I once stood tall,
Unaware that I was marking my own fall,
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.
My fate was ringing and I ran too fast to answer the call,
Now I get to suffer from the memories of it all.


                                                          ­                                 Jonesy © 2017
From the collection of Life Stories: Memories
Rohit Rohan May 2014
We have no memory
Of the things we last talked
Of the time
The place
The moment
The everything
And yet we can just pick up
From where we left
Without ever caring what it was
People have memories
Of what they last talked
And how they last ended
And they pick it up from there
Like a thread that goes on
We are as good as our last memories
With each other
The rest is all a mist

And at times those threads that people are, run thin
And thinner
Yet thinner
And just vanishes
And they never talk again
They never pick up
They just run into new ones
New colours
New textures
New memories

At times though, people are more than these memories
At times, we don’t need memories
We don’t need no occasions
We just pick up
Like it was a perpetual conversation that we were having
Like we were always meant to talk
About everything
And nothing
Even those silence moments of ours
Were like conversations
That never begged any words
That never begged no meanings
And was yet so whole
It was all a giant talk
Like blurbs out of this life
Or was it this life itself
Was that something that was meant to be
Coz it made us so whole

Then, one does not bother what they said
One does not bother about any memories
Or about any of them
Them, the people, passing by
Looking at us
Muttering things
And we only smiled
Or stayed mum
And that was our talk
Coz we always talked
Even when we promised not to
Life was this big conversation
That we were meant to have
And the rest of it all were just fillers
Like those commercials
During those shows

And we would meet after them all
And just pick up from where we left
Or wait
We just did not remember
Where we’d last left
There were no memories
Of what we last talked
There need not have been
Coz life of ours
Is but a conversation
Between us
And those memories that never were
And those that never will be
deliriumattic Jan 2018
childhood memories are
speckled with the scent of summer sunsets
formed with the bonds of friendship
and late night promises with giggling faces

childhood memories are
climbing crooked trees in the spring
the smell of freshly cut grass
and sleeping in until 10

childhood memories are
snowflakes blinding the humongous ski goggles
pressed against the large frames of thick glasses
and the promise of hot chocolate by a cozy fire

childhood memories are
marred by the yelling from downstairs
tightened faces and clenched fists
shattered glass and crimson splattered on beige tiles

childhood memories are
earbuds plugged tight in small ears
books clutched in trembling hands
herding confused brothers up creaking steps

childhood memories are
sadness leaking from the soul
withdrawal into the land of silence
an unhealthy obsession with escaping into fiction

childhood memories are
nostalgic
terrifying
what shaped me to be me
I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
I pluck the thoughts and memories,
That aren't remembered no more,
Shiny things in thoughts and dreams,
And babbles of treasure lost,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
My beak will tear and rip and pull,
And feed on memory's corpse,
All is food to the one who calls,
And walks the dusk and dawn,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
And finds lost things that none could find,
And brings them home with me,
The babbles I seek I will always take,
To decorate my nest,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
Up mountains so tall that no one can climb,
But I can fly so high,
Across endless plains no on can cross,
But I can fly so fast,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
Across endless seas where all become lost,
But I can fly so strong,
Through dark woods so dark no one can see,
But I cam fly beyond,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
And finds the secrets among all our thoughts,
And finds out all there is,
The paths I fly no one can go,
The treasures are mine alone,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

I am the Raven of Dreams,
Who wanders the dreamscapes of yore,
I pluck the thoughts and memories,
That aren't remembered no more,
Shiny things in thoughts and dreams,
And babbles of treasure lost,
In memories long faded away,
In dreams that will live on.

~I am the Raven of Dreams, a Poem of Candlemas by Bethany "Lorekeeper" Davis, February 2, 2016
Memories capture the moments of life,
Both joys and sorrows like within a frame,
But memories can never die.

You may lose the person,
Or may never see again but moments of life stay
As memories forever.

Some memories haunt
Some make us laugh
While others remind of the silly things done
Be it laughter or pain
Memories never die.

Learning to let go is fine
But then life is not simply to let go
If it had been about letting go
What is the point of ever meeting someone

Memories are there
To remind us of something lost or won
Time flows like a river
Days never standby
Memories capture the moment
And stays forever in life


Memories never die.
Raymond Johnson Apr 2013
The brain is a pretty rad little doodad. Sitting atop your neck, buzzing with blood and budding thoughts like an apple tree in spring.
I think it's fascinating that we're still quire clueless as to how it really works.
There's one particular part that still fascinates me, namely, memory.

Memories are the cranial equivalent of keeping a diary or writing in a journal. a collection of feelings and happenings of days gone by and words once said.
There are a few journal entries, if you will, that stand out to me. Ones I made with a girl... let's call her B.

If B were here right now, I'd look her in her big brown eyes and ask her:

Do you remember?

Do you remember the divine way the curves of your body fit into mine was we lay in an amorous embrace amongst the blankets and downy pillows?

Do you remember the way I told you a million times that I loved your hair. Your angelic, graceful hair, even though you thought it was too long and too messy?

How we walked through the forest for hours, talking about nothing and nonsense, and how we sat on a log for what seemed like eternity until I manufactured enough courage to finally kiss you?

They say that elephants never forget, and every time you cross my mind I feel my nose getting a little longer and my skin turning a little greyer.

Do you remember? Because I sure as hell do.

Do you remember how adorable you looked in those pajama pants of mine that were about a foot too long for you because you forgot to bring your own?

Do you remember how we sat on a bench and watched the birds flit from feeder to feeder as the sun waved us a crimson farewell?

Do you remember the feeling of your lips upon my lips, and the simple fact that it is impossible to properly describe that in any banal combination of 26 tired characters?

Do you remember the bittersweet intermingling of the smells of my eighty dollar cologne and your forty dollar shampoo?

Do you remember the way we looked into each other’s eyes? The vast universes of possibilities leaping from neuron to neuron behind those irises?

Wonderful memories. Pleasant memories. You couldn’t ask for anything better than these kind of memories. But there’s more. And there’s a reason why they’re just memories.

I remember the way the blood drained from my face like your used bath water circled the drain in my bathtub, and how my heart went on strike and stopped beating when you told me we couldn’t be together.

I remember how similar the crunch of the leaves and twigs under our booted feet sounded to the cracking and shattering of my sanity as you drove away on that sombre day.

I remember all of the dreams my brain pumped out of its pitiful pineal gland in a futile attempt to travel back in time.

I remember the empty spot in my bed and the gaping and gushing hole in my heart that still exists
To
This
Day.

But for all of these melancholy memories, these rotten ruminations, the beast of anger has yet to rear its matted mane.

In fact,

I thank you.

I thank you for this sadness, this regret, this longing, and this acute absence of rage,

For it is proof that I am alive.

I thank you for this sorrow, for this awful ammunition, for inspiration to machine masterpieces from the melancholy.

For what is light without darkness?

What is life without death, and love without loss?

So thank you.

I look back on our shared seconds not with eyes full of misplaced malice and fury,

But with gratitude.

Because even through tragedy

The heart survives.
https://soundcloud.com/blaxstronaut/memories
Babygirl Nov 2014
Memories are monsters, and I don't mean the kind who live under your bed.
These are the kind that hide in the shadows of your head.
They sneak up when you least expect it and choke you.
Gasping for air, but they just hold tighter, taking all the life out of you.
Good ones are monsters of the past.
Bad ones are the monsters who put you in a cast.

Good memories haunt the days of sadness, they show what you had and lost.
The bad are willing to end it, at all cost.
The good ones scream for hope.
The bad cut your wrist and tie the rope.
Memories haunt her wrists.
Memories haunt the shattered pieces of her soul, leaving a darkness kiss.

You wanna know what she does to hide the pain?
All the ways she holds herself together, so she can stay sane.
That smile you love so much, it holds back a darkness unknown to you.
She cuts her wrists to make sure you never do.
She is shattered, and on the verge of saying goodbye.
But none of you will cry.

She wanted her mom, that's all, but when she tried...
Her mom told her she would be better off if she died..
So, that's what she will do, take away the pain of her mind.
All the memories at first were pleasant and kind.
The one person she needs most is lying in a grave.
She is trying so hard not to be afraid, but she was never good at being brave.

She draws her memories in blood, because no one can see the pain she hides.
She is stuck between two divides.
What do you do when you have no one and nothing left to live for?
When death comes beckoning with an open door.
She ran into the arms of the monsters; faded memories.
They swallowed her in sad melodies.

She whispers into the night, knowing no one will hear her pleading.
She longs to make it all stop, especially the bleeding.
Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding, and more bleeding, the blood won't stop flowing.
The room is spinning and glowing.
This isn't what He would have wanted..her dad.
He would be angry, hurt, disappointed...sad...

But this isn't how it's supposed to be, she is supposed to be okay.
But what is  okay, who even knows what it feels like to WANT to live today?
She is done with this life and all those who promised to make it better.
But who to write goodbye to, no one would read her last letter..
No one would take the time to read her goodbye, so she won't write one.
Don't play dumb..don't wonder why she did it; it's done.

'Goodbye to the one who loved me truly.
Goodbye to the depression who made me do this so cruelly.
Goodbye to the mother who never wanted me alive.
Goodbye to the one who knew i would thrive.
Goodbye to the one who was always there for me.
Goodbye to the one i never got to be...'

Her final words, but who will even care.
No one will even notice her empty chair.
Just another nameless face in a crowd.
She was once so full of life and proud.
But now it's all over, and she is saying goodbye.
She was the one who you never tried to save, the one who you let cry...
I know I can count on you tonight
even though we used to fight.
I look forward to our date night.
In memories I delight.
In this dark world you are my light.
I'd like to keep you in my sight.
In memories I delight.
I want to dance in the moonlight
and see the stars twinkling bright.
In memories I delight.
Come on and hold me tight.
We can dance to the song we both like.
In memories I delight.
You don't love me anymore
not since our divorce in '94.
In memories I delight.
For now we are two song birds
sitting in the same tree.
We both are free.
In memories I delight.
So see you on date night.
It makes us feel alright.
In memories I delight.
SAILING TO BYZANTIUM
I

THAT is no country for old men.  The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-- Those dying generations -- at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out Of nature I shall never take
My ****** form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

WHAT shall I do with this absurdity --
O heart, O troubled heart -- this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
Excited, passionate, fantastical
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
That more expected the impossible --
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulben's back
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Until imagination, ear and eye,
Can be content with argument and deal
In abstract things; or be derided by
A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
I pace upon the battlements and stare
On the foundations of a house, or where
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And send imagination forth
Under the day's declining beam, and call
Images and memories
From ruin or from ancient trees,
For I would ask a question of them all.
Beyond that ridge lived Mrs.  French, and once
When every silver candlestick or sconce
Lit up the dark mahogany and the wine.
A serving-man, that could divine
That most respected lady's every wish,
Ran and with the garden shears
Clipped an insolent farmer's ears
And brought them in a little covered dish.
Some few remembered still when I was young
A peasant girl commended by a Song,
Who'd lived somewhere upon that rocky place,
And praised the colour of her face,
And had the greater joy in praising her,
Remembering that, if walked she there,
Farmers jostled at the fair
So great a glory did the song confer.
And certain men, being maddened by those rhymes,
Or else by toasting her a score of times,
Rose from the table and declared it right
To test their fancy by their sight;
But they mistook the brightness of the moon
For the prosaic light of day --
Music had driven their wits astray --
And one was drowned in the great bog of Cloone.
Strange, but the man who made the song was blind;
Yet, now I have considered it, I find
That nothing strange; the tragedy began
With Homer that was a blind man,
And Helen has all living hearts betrayed.
O may the moon and sunlight seem
One inextricable beam,
For if I triumph I must make men mad.
And I myself created Hanrahan
And drove him drunk or sober through the dawn
From somewhere in the neighbouring cottages.
Caught by an old man's juggleries
He stumbled, tumbled, fumbled to and fro
And had but broken knees for hire
And horrible splendour of desire;
I thought it all out twenty years ago:
Good fellows shuffled cards in an old bawn;
And when that ancient ruffian's turn was on
He so bewitched the cards under his thumb
That all but the one card became
A pack of hounds and not a pack of cards,
And that he changed into a hare.
Hanrahan rose in frenzy there
And followed up those baying creatures towards --
O towards I have forgotten what -- enough!
I must recall a man that neither love
Nor music nor an enemy's clipped ear
Could, he was so harried, cheer;
A figure that has grown so fabulous
There's not a neighbour left to say
When he finished his dog's day:
An ancient bankrupt master of this house.
Before that ruin came, for centuries,
Rough men-at-arms, cross-gartered to the knees
Or shod in iron, climbed the narrow stairs,
And certain men-at-arms there were
Whose images, in the Great Memory stored,
Come with loud cry and panting breast
To break upon a sleeper's rest
While their great wooden dice beat on the board.
As I would question all, come all who can;
Come old, necessitous.  half-mounted man;
And bring beauty's blind rambling celebrant;
The red man the juggler sent
Through God-forsaken meadows; Mrs.  French,
Gifted with so fine an ear;
The man drowned in a bog's mire,
When mocking Muses chose the country *****.
Did all old men and women, rich and poor,
Who trod upon these rocks or passed this door,
Whether in public or in secret rage
As I do now against old age?
But I have found an answer in those eyes
That are impatient to be gone;
Go therefore; but leave Hanrahan,
For I need all his mighty memories.
Old lecher with a love on every wind,
Bring up out of that deep considering mind
All that you have discovered in the grave,
For it is certain that you have
Reckoned up every unforeknown, unseeing
plunge, lured by a softening eye,
Or by a touch or a sigh,
Into the labyrinth of another's being;
Does the imagination dwell the most
Upon a woman won or woman lost.?
If on the lost, admit you turned aside
From a great labyrinth out of pride,
Cowardice, some silly over-subtle thought
Or anything called conscience once;
And that if memory recur, the sun's
Under eclipse and the day blotted out.

III
It is time that I wrote my will;
I choose upstanding men
That climb the streams until
The fountain leap, and at dawn
Drop their cast at the side
Of dripping stone; I declare
They shall inherit my pride,
The pride of people that were
Bound neither to Cause nor to State.
Neither to slaves that were spat on,
Nor to the tyrants that spat,
The people of Burke and of Grattan
That gave, though free to refuse --
pride, like that of the morn,
When the headlong light is loose,
Or that of the fabulous horn,
Or that of the sudden shower
When all streams are dry,
Or that of the hour
When the swan must fix his eye
Upon a fading gleam,
Float out upon a long
Last reach of glittering stream
And there sing his last song.
And I declare my faith:
I mock plotinus' thought
And cry in plato's teeth,
Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole,
Made lock, stock and barrel
Out of his bitter soul,
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
And further add to that
That, being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar paradise.
I have prepared my peace
With learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece,
Poet's imaginings
And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women,
All those things whereof
Man makes a superhuman,
Mirror-resembling dream.
As at the loophole there
The daws chatter and scream,
And drop twigs layer upon layer.
When they have mounted up,
The mother bird will rest
On their hollow top,
And so warm her wild nest.
I leave both faith and pride
To young upstanding men
Climbing the mountain-side,
That under bursting dawn
They may drop a fly;
Being of that metal made
Till it was broken by
This sedentary trade.
Now shall I make my soul,
Compelling it to study
In a learned school
Till the wreck of body,
Slow decay of blood,
Testy delirium
Or dull decrepitude,
Or what worse evil come --
The death of friends, or death
Of every brilliant eye
That made a catch in the breath -- .
Seem but the clouds of the sky
When the horizon fades;
Or a bird's sleepy cry
Among the deepening shades.
THE TOWER
I
HDRWHAT shall I do with this absurdity --
O heart, O troubled heart -- this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
Excited, passionate, fantastical
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
That more expected the impossible --
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulben's back
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Until imagination, ear and eye,
Can be content with argument and deal
In abstract things; or be derided by
A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
I pace upon the battlements and stare
On the foundations of a house, or where
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And send imagination forth
Under the day's declining beam, and call
Images and memories
From ruin or from ancient trees,
For I would ask a question of them all.
Beyond that ridge lived Mrs.  French, and once
When every silver candlestick or sconce
Lit up the dark mahogany and the wine.
A serving-man, that could divine
That most respected lady's every wish,
Ran and with the garden shears
Clipped an insolent farmer's ears
And brought them in a little covered dish.
Some few remembered still when I was young
A peasant girl commended by a Song,
Who'd lived somewhere upon that rocky place,
And praised the colour of her face,
And had the greater joy in praising her,
Remembering that, if walked she there,
Farmers jostled at the fair
So great a glory did the song confer.
And certain men, being maddened by those rhymes,
Or else by toasting her a score of times,
Rose from the table and declared it right
To test their fancy by their sight;
But they mistook the brightness of the moon
For the prosaic light of day --
Music had driven their wits astray --
And one was drowned in the great bog of Cloone.
Strange, but the man who made the song was blind;
Yet, now I have considered it, I find
That nothing strange; the tragedy began
With Homer that was a blind man,
And Helen has all living hearts betrayed.
O may the moon and sunlight seem
One inextricable beam,
For if I triumph I must make men mad.
And I myself created Hanrahan
And drove him drunk or sober through the dawn
From somewhere in the neighbouring cottages.
Caught by an old man's juggleries
He stumbled, tumbled, fumbled to and fro
And had but broken knees for hire
And horrible splendour of desire;
I thought it all out twenty years ago:
Good fellows shuffled cards in an old bawn;
And when that ancient ruffian's turn was on
He so bewitched the cards under his thumb
That all but the one card became
A pack of hounds and not a pack of cards,
And that he changed into a hare.
Hanrahan rose in frenzy there
And followed up those baying creatures towards --
O towards I have forgotten what -- enough!
I must recall a man that neither love
Nor music nor an enemy's clipped ear
Could, he was so harried, cheer;
A figure that has grown so fabulous
There's not a neighbour left to say
When he finished his dog's day:
An ancient bankrupt master of this house.
Before that ruin came, for centuries,
Rough men-at-arms, cross-gartered to the knees
Or shod in iron, climbed the narrow stairs,
And certain men-at-arms there were
Whose images, in the Great Memory stored,
Come with loud cry and panting breast
To break upon a sleeper's rest
While their great wooden dice beat on the board.
As I would question all, come all who can;
Come old, necessitous.  half-mounted man;
And bring beauty's blind rambling celebrant;
The red man the juggler sent
Through God-forsaken meadows; Mrs.  French,
Gifted with so fine an ear;
The man drowned in a bog's mire,
When mocking Muses chose the country *****.
Did all old men and women, rich and poor,
Who trod upon these rocks or passed this door,
Whether in public or in secret rage
As I do now against old age?
But I have found an answer in those eyes
That are impatient to be gone;
Go therefore; but leave Hanrahan,
For I need all his mighty memories.
Old lecher with a love on every wind,
Bring up out of that deep considering mind
All that you have discovered in the grave,
For it is certain that you have
Reckoned up every unforeknown, unseeing
plunge, lured by a softening eye,
Or by a touch or a sigh,
Into the labyrinth of another's being;
Does the imagination dwell the most
Upon a woman won or woman lost.?
If on the lost, admit you turned aside
From a great labyrinth out of pride,
Cowardice, some silly over-subtle thought
Or anything called conscience once;
And that if memory recur, the sun's
Under eclipse and the day blotted out.
III
It is time that I wrote my will;
I choose upstanding men
That climb the streams until
The fountain leap, and at dawn
Drop their cast at the side
Of dripping stone; I declare
They shall inherit my pride,
The pride of people that were
Bound neither to Cause nor to State.
Neither to slaves that were spat on,
Nor to the tyrants that spat,
The people of Burke and of Grattan
That gave, though free to refuse --
pride, like that of the morn,
When the headlong light is loose,
Or that of the fabulous horn,
Or that of the sudden shower
When all streams are dry,
Or that of the hour
When the swan must fix his eye
Upon a fading gleam,
Float out upon a long
Last reach of glittering stream
And there sing his last song.
And I declare my faith:
I mock plotinus' thought
And cry in plato's teeth,
Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole,
Made lock, stock and barrel
Out of his bitter soul,
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
And further add to that
That, being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar paradise.
I have prepared my peace
With learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece,
Poet's imaginings
And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women,
All those things whereof
Man makes a superhuman,
Mirror-resembling dream.
As at the loophole there
The daws chatter and scream,
And drop twigs layer upon layer.
When they have mounted up,
The mother bird will rest
On their hollow top,
And so warm her wild nest.
I leave both faith and pride
To young upstanding men
Climbing the mountain-side,
That under bursting dawn
They may drop a fly;
Being of that metal made
Till it was broken by
This sedentary trade.
Now shall I make my soul,
Compelling it to study
In a learned school
Till the wreck of body,
Slow decay of blood,
Testy delirium
Or dull decrepitude,
Or what worse evil come --
The death of friends, or death
Of every brilliant eye
That made a catch in the breath -- .
Seem but the clouds of the sky
When the horizon fades;
Or a bird's sleepy cry
Among the deepening shades.

— The End —