It’s curious that the one thing that age destroys is memory.

We can reminisce and regale our grandchildren to the point of delight

of delicious and noble deeds done but the temptation

to over embellish, or add a line in for cosmic effect then

perhaps awkwardly becomes the main focus of the story.

As we get older, instead of being sure of the whole story,

We begin to miss things out, they disappear from view, hidden,

shrouded by  Time and alienated by a sense of the perverse.

We no longer recognise what we have been,

what are feeling and thoughts were at a certain given moment

and in many cases all that remains is the body of the rose tinted glass.

 

That Rose tinted glass though, never a pair in truth, for why would a mind

ever allow its host to see such wondrous colour, is perhaps

what saves a memory from being filled up with regret.

Like a small child who never fully remembers being shouted at

till they are told that it is wrong to have such admonishment

handed out, the mind protects itself from having the pain and torture

of regret, the unhindered apology of remorseful grief catching

at the back of the swollen, mealy mouthed throat.

Time is not a dream catcher, it allows certain things to flutter by

unobserved ,

so they don’t cause you pain at the end.

 

Ian D. Hall 2014