Memory
Without apology
Making the passage
Of years
Inconsequential,
Leaving me
Finger painting
In dust,
Mocking
My penchant
For relevancy,
unnerving
And disturbing
The order within me;
Staining
My emptiness
With your colours and scent,
The way a window
Burns red
Long after the sun has set.
Memories do be like that though!
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thank you for your response
I especially liked
...because it is so real that it is more like a happening than words on a page.
that last observation sums up the essence of poetry to me - it's not simply a communication of ideas but a re-creation of the experience so the reader can share in it too
Perhaps, the one that got away?
the poem lends itself to that interpretation too, but with me, I never fully embrace an emotion at the time but find it keeps growing afterwards in memory