A Poem by Poetic License

I can almost taste them,
The memories I no longer have.

I can just catch their jasmine scent,
Light and sweet aroma of honeysuckle.

The longer I search for them,
The more diaphanous they become.

They drift in puddles of mind matter,
To reach is to push them farther away.

I can so nearly hear the sounds, I think,
Tenor and pitch of voices, staccato speech.

I wonder about them, today,
These memories I cannot seem to find.

They were just yesterday, weren't they?
Just this year?  Last year?  Perhaps?

How strange to know of a past,
Without truly knowing the past.

How odd to gaze at passing human forms,
and wonder, did I know you?

Memory is our last great protector, they say,
I have to take their word for it, because I cannot remember.

© 2017 Poetic License

Author's Note

Poetic License
An effort to parse out inner turmoils on recent memory loss. I wonder, most days, if this is what Alzheimers will be like.

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I hope you don't have to find out, about alzheimers that is, I spend my days caring for people with alzheimers, I love them, but I hope I never join their ranks!

Posted 11 Months Ago

sweet memories,sometimes we just forget,

Posted 11 Months Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on October 26, 2017
Last Updated on October 26, 2017


Poetic License
Poetic License

St. Louis, MO

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. - Hemingway Fyrene ond fæhðe fela missera, singale sæce, sibbe ne wolde wið manna hwone m&ae.. more..