the memory

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  • Life

    the memory

     finally, i am able to observe the memory
    detached
    as one would a sunset
    held somewhere inside
    where such things are kept
    after the sun has set
    as the shadows fold
    into darkness
    i am content
    holding on to the knowledge
    that there will be another
    to captue the soul
    to hold in the heart

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    shallenemcgrath commented on the memory

    02-17-2011

    I PMed you an alternative that objectifies the metaphor a little more. This is a really good one... oozing with the craft, and the pain of love's end. Love stinks but the alternative is much worse.
    Reply to Comment

    sherlock139 commented on the memory

    02-13-2011

    I like the way you have said that we need to take life one day at a time. That despite whatever happens, the sun will rise again tomorrow. Well done.
    Reply to Comment

    duty commented on the memory

    02-12-2011

    We would never comprehend....These wonders from above,....You have painted a picture....Of God's enduring love....
    Reply to Comment

    Teardrops commented on the memory

    02-11-2011

    You discribe a sunset and it makes me cry for the pure beauty of your words . I see and feel the first chill as the sun sets . Loved the poem Marie
    Reply to Comment

    RHPeat commented on the memory

    02-11-2011

    So simple and so real your words attach flesh to the sunset like a cloth that clings to the frame of body known too well. A memory that touches the back of the neck and feels a breath up close. A feeling so deep its driven like a nail into heartwood; a bit of sap runs out that you can put a finger to and taste it. a sticky burn on the tongue. A poet friend//RH Peat
    Reply to Comment

    train64

    02/13/2011

    Even your comments are poetry RH..Thanks.. train

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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