Past Imprisoned
The memories that slip us by
Hold more addiction than drug and wine,
Like thread that slips for a needle's eye,
Gripped too tight, it proves untrue.
The mind is a prison, a prison, the thought,
When in our happiness we smiled,
And in our anger, wills unsheathed, we fought
Like politicians squabbling for power.
Many moments of time, many moments we spent
Where words flowed like a river in Wilde,
And now, now from where it went-
Gone, as the river is, never again regained.
We had crossed each other's way,
Like two doomed ships that pass in storm,
Like strangers, we had no word to say,
We made no signs, we said no words_
The silence is now our company, the past
Our restless companions haunting the darkened
Hallways of dreams and hopes that never last
Regretful, though regret helps us not.
Our nemesis; ourselves, our minds we linger-
And the memories that slip us by,
Have faded, and at the tips of our fingers
Lies the gateway to our existence.
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