Memory
For what is memory if not a joke
It taunts us readily as if to coax
Us into believing that it is true
When its nature is rather crude
A simple memory may hold the key
To the fate of man, but you see
The memory itself is effervescent
A quaint yet boisterous notion that when
Examined by a higher power
May simply be found not to flower
But to wither and decay among the refuse
Leaving us wondering is there proof
That one is nothing more than abstract thought?
A collection of feelings and merely ought
To live life not just on memory
And to live not based in history
Is quite the problem for us to find
To decipher and decode, unravel and unwind
For memory is to some and most
A shadow, a reflection, a faceless ghost
A picture darkened as if to seem
That memory itself is but a dream
But how then do we up and wake
From these terrible memories that forsake
Us with their fallacious lies
And cause us all to despise
Those near and dear and wide and far
Please tell me memory, how then are
We to free ourselves from your cursed wrath
To annihilate you from our conscious hath
Been and ideal not so followed or felt
Because you so have the cards been dealt
A hand superior to ours alone
Still we sigh, we weep, we moan
For you, although hidden in shame
Remind us all we are to blame
No thing save our cursed soul
Which you alone have the hold
For you alone are enemy
You vile, wicked, memory
