Memory Is a Fickle Friend

Like limpets we cling on to the fading past Via the present, connecting yesterday Through to our tomorrows; memories last Form links in the chain. Thoughts play Sometimes drifting in and out of minds And at others, rapid as an automatic gun With bullet speed flashes which trigger all kinds Of emotions, passionate, hot as a risen sun. Memory is a fickle friend, do we recollect The facts or do we remember them retold Countless times until they fit what we select To recount? The events becoming as bold As vibrant youth, with energy that enhances The retelling. Half forgotten feelings that erupt Into a lava flow of words that take chances With the actual event and can the truth corrupt. The mists of time and memory meet and merge. Unbidden by our will the vivid scenes play out Rising from subconscious to fulfill the urge To verbalise our histories. There is no doubt We gain from these utterances of thought That surprise us by their intense approaches. Then into that memory we are sucked, caught, Which by our retelling on today encroach.