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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It's a pity the good memories of my father are inside Because the past's an open hole in the garden of life So I'm digging in mine, tryna trigger what gets hidden It's a littered sewer system like a river of dead kittens The lower I break; discarded wishes all over the place It's as if all that I've done's become disposable waste Deeper still I notice a face, recall a relationship lost I'd give the face a quick wash because it's faded with fog I'd have taken a cloth, removed dirt from her features See we climb futures when what's certain's beneath us Friends turn into creatures we've long since forgotten So was the beginning of life really a bomb at the bottom If this thick swamp wasn't a problem, I'd clear my past But time only makes it harder to tear through the trash Buried in the back pages of history I might hit repeat That's if I get that deep, so for now I'll just shift the peat Lifting each shovel full of rubble uncovers another skull Stuck in a puddle, the fabric of time's like a subtle wool.. Over your eyes as it cuddles you. I'm trudging through No surprises, in a direction where there's nothing new But the depth I took it to improved my masterpiece drastically My own memory washed clear as water and it captured me I saw the past of me, pure, caught in chronological order And I recalled the beauty of this police officers daughter Obviously lost by the author of a fairy tale more remote So I stop digging, wishing my pencil could draw her close Now I can pause a pose, or position her around the room But photographic memory won't prevent the impending doom She hasn't found her groom, she's strewn by the wayside But memories can be profoundly rude if you dig at a grave site ..
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