Through Doors and Into Places

I will take memory
walk with it
hold it in my hands
in the folds of my body
through doors and into places.

I will buy it a drink
it will play for me
will burgeon and bloom
radiant and warm
in tandem we cherish.

But the sun always sets
and in the tomorrows
memory will whine
there in my hand
hungry for something.

And these days when it whines
needing what I can't give it
I will wish
to throw it away
to rid myself of its burdon.

I will try and hide it
in my pockets
in the folds of my body
for I will tire
of it's unchanging.

But my aching hands
they won't let go
no matter how I try
it stays with me
through doors and into places.

Memory will become my rumor
It will grow beyond my control.

Only then will we know
what we have done
where we are now
who we will be
through doors and into places.


(To be revised when I have more than 15 minutes to myself a day)