the memories have little substance
they flit and fly, pollen on the wind,
like the quick passing of a joyful birth,
the school years, the sweet trysts ~
a waving bridal veil . . .
. . . the way your love drained you
of your dreams just to fill yourself with him
. . . . . the epitaph of tears
only when yesterday becomes a story,
once upon a time, do memories
become memorial, a mourning brooch
forever warm upon your breast
©2013 poem, 2015 illustration, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
Yes, this is one of my all-time favorites, growing warmer each year I age.
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Oh…those first two lines are just brilliant in the way they capture what memories can be…love this poem.
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Thanks, Charlie.
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