Drowning in memories


It didn’t use to be this challenging.

The weight of the shackles grows day by day.

As I turn my gaze to the path behind,

I see my memories lay in the dust.


The most recent are still fresh at my feet,

warming my heart from the cold windless nights.

They lay on the path linked only by chain.

One by one, they become muddy and scarred.


Warm and joyous, lifting my spirits high,

each memory was once alive and well.

With every day that marches on by,

each memory fades further and colder.


A single memory weighs just a thought,

but chained together they’re a steadfast block.

Each step forward is a hard fought battle,

the chain chants at me “go further no more.”


Long ago I was free to fly away.

Free from the shackles, the anchor, the weight.

Now, drowning in memories of the past,

I gaze forward to see what lies ahead.


Down in the dust sit footprints of strangers.

Each one unique, a stamp to mark the past.

They showcase the journey of unnamed men,

those who stumbled, who walked, who ran, and who flew.


I dream of a day of freedom and flight,

where no memory can stop my journey.

As I surrender a gust of wind howls,

singing “come fly away with me tonight.”


I gaze down on the stone cold wrought iron,

which wraps each leg in its frozen embrace.

Suddenly I recall a distant thought,

and my beating heart pounds blood through my veins.


The shackles and chain were my own design,

a means to carry my memories forth.

I reach deep into my cluttered pocket,

and grasp the key that relieves the shackles.


They fall from my ankles, straight to the ground.

I take a step forward, weightless and free.

I stumble, then walk, and then even run.

The wind blows forth, and finally I fly.

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