Yesterdays

Yesterdays

Slipped through my fingers

Glimpsing toffee stuck on child's hands, glued to me.

Memory:

It stalks my peace,

companions quickened breath in time with jagged heartbeat:

a soulful tune.

And loss of fathom fills space close behind.

I scratch my head.

Old naivete carried

like a bonnet upon my head

sweeping ribbons tied my eyes to bows

distorting my vision

to only now show me ghastly truth within colorful loops.

I hiccup

And turn the page

of yesteryear.

They've grown

They've forgiven me.

Redemption

At what price?

Who paid?

I turn in silence to more pleasant conversation.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller

a slice of time

A slice of time

unencumbered by hope or expectation

A dash of color

A memory untold.

And yet,

I hold you in my hand

Like precious jewel

not to be lost

Amongst the other affairs

Until tomorrow

or beyond

left in the attic of my mind

the trunk that holds the others

within cobwebs and silver fish

in silent slumber between the eaves.

And wake I might

Or not.

Keeping you close to my heart alone.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller

A fretful mind

A fretful mind unstilled as yet

Can't pinpoint memory

Of old joy, pain held close to heart

And yet let go again.

Why can't I capture you anew

Old story lived through, kind?

Why won't you come back, visit me,

Return, for once, to mind?

Lived through the situation

That I now can't recall

Lived through and then forgotten

A friendly lie, that's all.

I'm old and gray, I know it well:

No secret it's of mine.

My memory is, however, faint

My story it won't find.

Again I stare into kind eyes

Beckoning me to speak,

To answer question braced at me

To tell my secret deep.

But can't recall, try as I might

To dig out memory.

This slip of mind, my constant friend

Why won't you bypass me?

Where did you go?

When did you leave?

Not able to recall.

It is as though I never lived,

Stumbled before the fall.

And still you stand in front of me,

Familiar eyes on me

You smile quite kindly, comforting,

Knowing what I can't see.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller