Your life has just begun
But this is about memory, not memories
Me-mory, mem-ory, m-emory, memo-ry
Anyway you say it, it’s just a dream
Part of life’s painful and beautiful schemes
It’s not real until written on seams
It’s not good until woven into themes
It’s not complete until placed in a weave
There until it chooses to leave
A bird in this cage, needing to feed
Memory seems to be full of greed
Starts with a seed
Then begins to cleave
A pattern of weeds
When last did you de-weed your memory?
A civil servant. Trying to feel alive. Again.