Brush of Time

Sad memories jagged like stones pierce through the air like bullets Traveling fast they keep making fresh wounds... reloading to aim at my spirit And for many strange reasons.... whenever they come I want to remember the burn The feel of the moment, opens the skin over and over again.... I reach out my hand, to catch them mid air... to slow down the speed keeping them near to keep them alive... to thrive in a box like old friends.... But they travel too fast..... I cannot catch them all.... And with each rushing year.....there is less of the sting I just feel the brush of the wind.... And, I wonder at times,.... just why is it so... so hard to let go of the pain? __________________________________________________________________ Submitted for Contest "Bite of the Cherry" Sponsor: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot