Memory - that trickster of time
that gives us glimpses, pictures sublime
of rose tinted schooldays, birthdays and more
sandcastled weekends and Christmas of yore.
Yet, seems to paint over the guilt and the pain,
the bullying schoolboy, the weekend of rain.
The empty feeling of love unspoken,
or else the confusion of friendships broken.
As if we need to remember the good
and not the rotten and old dead wood.
Like an old game show that plays in your mind,
a sepia movie that runs in rewind,
a cheesy Presenter says, "Let's see how you've done!
These are the prizes you could have won!"
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment