Memories are demons hiding in the closet,
Under the bed, in the attic,
Waiting in ambush with a lifetime store
Of sorrow, anger, regret, & forgotten longing.

They prey on our moments of loneliness
With a tenacity that borders on obsession;
The very shadows come to life with ghosts
We thought we'd long ago fought & banished.

What profit is there in recalling the past
With anything beyond a passing notion?
Good memories only remind us what we've lost,
Bad ones only make us fear the fragility of life.

Perhaps the only memories worthy of the name
Help us to appreciate where we are today;
These being so seemingly few & far between,
there is little but pain to be found
in the excavation of bloody, ancient battlefields.

But the demons will not be exorcised,
Try as we will our arcane rituals & magic potions;
Their power lays waste to any pretense we hold
Of control over our own hearts.
Written by Tallquietguy
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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