all we do is forget

we wake, having to remember

this cycle of ours must repeat.


what for, then,

are we trying to do by keeping our memories dear,

whilst we pretend they will never disappear?


it is barely reconcilable,

Mother's smile in that one photo,

as if it was static on a blurry CRT TV.


the past is but a song with its lyrics removed,

untranslated dreams of childhood heroes,

that conversation with a certain Jane doe


Just listen.

And There it is,

the faint echo

of a former present melted into the past


it cannot be recovered

yet, it still remains

its incomplete form a reminder maybe,

of our bygone selves.



We forget

To remember

so that our past can birth the future,

so that we can take comfort in who we were.

Once upon a time.