I remember when
the first words out of my mouth
were not infested by
meandering termites &
my tongue still
felt alive
I remember when
fortune was not just
a four letter word —
but a one way ticket
to favored utopia
I remember when
there was still
laughter in the rain &
my hand did not stray from
touching yours.
Another Wandering Soul 
hmm.. nice 🙂
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thank you 🙂
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My pleasure 🙂
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Wonderful poem. I tend to distrust memory. I think memory is a distortion of the past yet, culturally speaking, people hold memory in high esteem or maybe its the whirlpool I distrust where memory become entangled with nostalgia. So your poem, for me, tends to end with an unasked question – “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Thanks for your thought provoking meditation.
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Hmm… a good question, indeed – and not so easily answered. Guess we will see…
Thanks for the visit, Terry!
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