Memory Is A Fickle Friend

Like limpets we cling on to the fading past
Via the present, connecting yesterday
Through to our tomorrows; memories last
Form links in the chain. Thoughts play
Sometimes drifting in and out of minds
And at others, rapid as an automatic gun
With bullet speed flashes which trigger all kinds
Of emotions, passionate, hot as a risen sun.

Memory is a fickle friend, do we recollect
The facts or do we remember them retold
Countless times until they fit what we select
To recount? The events becoming as bold
As vibrant youth, with energy that enhances
The retelling. Half forgotten feelings that erupt
Into a lava flow of words that take chances
With the actual event and can the truth corrupt.

The mists of time and memory meet and merge.
Unbidden by our will the vivid scenes play out
Rising from subconscious to fulfill the urge
To verbalise our histories. There is no doubt
We gain from these utterances of thought
That surprise us by their intense approaches.
Then into that memory we are sucked, caught,
Which by our retelling on today encroach.