Memory

" ‘Memory’ is a strange thing. Poetry, also, is a strange thing. Some experiences are best expressed through poetry. For years, I have tried, and failed to express this particular experience through word, until recently, when this poem just... happened. I barely knew what I was writing when I wrote it, but here it is.

Why don’t I feel them, these tinted, monochrome flashes? Yet at times, they strike through flesh and bone, like a knife flashes.

When I look back upon moments, images, emotional events, Why don’t they feel like mine, these 2-dimensional caches?

Events and facts, clear as dry sand, meticulously recollect, Yet no feelings of feeling, or living them arouse, until the whip lashes.

Must they be so harsh, the knowledge of ‘feeling’, when it returns? So cutting, and jarring, it forces tears from my eyelashes?

Living through my life, one day at a time, terrified to look back To my past, where there lie naught but jarring clashes.

An elaborate tale on paper, or image on film, Smooth, texture-less. I hunt for those stitches.

Stitches, they don’t want to be sought, Only appear all of a sudden, when lightning flashes."

Hearts of AM ~ #13