Memories.

Memories, those perfected pictures

much like a thorn left to grow.

I've walked through them aimlessly,

picked your voice and a song became,

but then, it hurt my ears

though I'd smile in wonder.

Memories, are they moving photographs?

What's true, maybe feelings they induce?

I've turned my back to those,

I've sat on too long.

There lies my wishes in memories,

had you been awe, I'd still hold your hand.

Curse them for passing,

those moments stuck in my head.

Memories, deciphered now

have turned me into a liar.

You can see doubt as my dress,

if I've thought, and thought; then I thought.

What can memories tell me?

Only you used to be, now pictures; were you ever?