Memoirs

Memory after memory unfolds,
reveals itself
if only for a moment
before returning,
each one to their familiar confines.

Some get thrown back
in the drawer whence they came,
others get put in a diary,
not to be revealed
until the timing is right,

then others have the lock
& key on their good names.
Only time has the strength,
the resolve
just to release them from

their constant sleep & slumber.
Like a letter which gone unread
for years
or a writing which has not seen
the light of day for decades,

these memories return
from their long sleep as if to say,
We have not grown tired
& faded away like all the rest;
we are still here, only waiting

to make ourselves known to
an audience who will truly listen,
who will truly appreciate
how we came into being,
as it were, our genesis.

For a lifetime we have been
seeking an audience who will
wholeheartedly appreciate
our worth, our value, & most of all,
our own unique history.

So they go, each their own way,
confident that they will find
the attention which they have been
desperate for all these years,
right here in front of us.

Every memory
we have found is waiting
not just for the brush-up,
not solely
for a cursory praise:

No. They refuse to go
into neglect & disarray
this easily anymore.
They have returned,
& this time it is for good.

They don't seek a hiding
place, far removed
from the view of all.
Right here & right now
they are waiting to be

revealed in all their glory,
in all of their heartfelt power
which time & age
could never put a check on.
These memories of which

we speak are timeless,
so full of life long after
its creators have passed on,
their legacies still leaving
a mark any way they can.