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Poems |
| As in all things there is a beginning........ |
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Thoughts in a flickering Flame |
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| Memory paints with a beautiful brush, on the canvas of my mind. I can rummage through it’s vast storehouse to see what pictures I can find. I can parade these images on a private screen and feel the warmth those memories can bring. I can weave the fabrics of that hallucinary dream, whilst choirs of angels sing. I can colour those recollections, in shades to match my mood, for in the most part those memories that remain with us, are very often good. |
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| Memory paints with a beautiful brush even of loved ones long since dead, such thoughts are with me here and now, strolling sedately through my head. I can reach out, I can touch them, I can pass the time of day. I can select a chapter from my past and like a video, can replay the memories that are pleasing and do not upset a wounded heart, and with that magic brush of memory, bring forth those that did depart. | ||
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Time and distance is no obstacle for this artistry of mind, the exercise, it soothes me and brings me a peace I could not elsewhere find. For in this I am the creator, the artist with the brush I control the scene, control the pace, for there’s no need to rush. I can review those special moments and take hours to replay the scene. I can deliberate upon conversations and decipher exactly what they mean. I can relive such moments almost any time or anywhere, even in a crowded room, or when no one else is there. Memory paints with a beautiful brush, it paints to one’s desire. It’s just a thought as you sit at home, staring into the fire. |
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