Memory

He sits alone, looking through old photographs,
Memories masquerading in his mind with every past picture,
Names written in sand, long lost cycles that seemed endless,
People now forgotten who were once irreplaceable,
All beyond the reach of his hands so used to being safe.
Emotions felt during those times are filed away in the
Annals of his brain, stored separately to be called up
When necessary in the world of conversation.
Yet here he sits in solitude, solemn as he remembers it all
In one giant reminiscing spree, pulling apart the files,
Blurring everything together into one stream of recollection,
And he realises his life’s feeble efforts have extended to
Recreating those peaks of happiness in a permanent state.
His epiphany comes in that dark room, lit only by the screen,
Staring at picture after picture as the resentment steadily builds
Toward the people within them, whose stillness gives them
The perpetual happiness he craves, captured forevermore;
But the realisation soon sets in, he will never succeed in stopping time.
His destiny is to chase the moments as he lives them until
They become the very pictures he gazes at now, the memories
Abounding in a mocking fashion day in, day out, until he eventually
Becomes too old to run anymore and the chase moves beyond him.
Then he will be stuck with the memories he chased into eternity,
And with a growing hatred for memory, as he wonders what the point
In living life in bursts of highs and lows is when liberation lies
In forgetting each day every day - so he would never know what he lost.

(this poem I wrote literally yesterday).