As I look through my memories,
I see the black and white,
the color, the frayed, the bright,
I see it all in front of me,
the good, bad and ugly.
Some of the memories
don't have a meaning for me anymore.
seem like they happened yesterday.
aren't as clear as they once were.
are so detailed I can see buttons on a
I think about these memories
like they are pages in my book.
Some are worn, print is faded
but it is still part of what my story
These memories show me
the pieces of my life as I know it.
I honor those memories
the ones that are mine,
the ones from my ancestors,
but I know memories
are only part of the true me.
The whole picture only
comes into crystal clear focus
when memories are in perspective
and I see the beautiful landscape
of my wide open future.
~Copyright 2010, Mary D'Alba
In : Poetry