Memories
Life consists of many comings and goings
As materialistic beings we cherish our belongings
Belonging to me, truly, are just my memories
The one true thing that’s only mine, isn’t sensory
A feeling of nostalgia, a flashback to old times
The smell of Grandma’s kitchen, a small book of old rhymes
The sound of the blue train stopping at the station
The taste of french escargot that I had on vacation
These are things that belong only to me
A world of thoughts that only I can see
Without my memories I would cease to exist
Just a soulless man on a long forgotten list
So even if everything I hold dear were taken away
My memories can never be stolen in such a way
My memories - some wild as a tiger, some gentle as a lamb
Are what, in fact, define me. They make me who I am.