December 15, 2013

Memory is a Riddle I cannot Crack. {Poem} ~ Edith Lazenby


Pictures and moments

Have a fullness that hold me, and

Live in the book of my heart;

Tales with morals I learn to live

And live to learn—writing the lines

Of my life between chapters

I cannot title with sentences—no

 Endings; and paragraphs

Bleed meaning into a place

I know I lived, yet the plot won’t write itself

Beyond my imaginings so what

Is real and what was blur, merging

Any theme into a series of question marks

Weaving all I believe into an echo

That sings through the veil of my Muse.


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Editor: Rachel Nussbaum

Photo: Flickr Creative Commons

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