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MemoriesMemories bloom as flowers along the road we wind, Pretty things they drift and sway in reminisce's warm wind; But looks deceive and memory tricks concealing well from view, The past we flee, the truth of life that hounds us through and through. The flower beds are old and dead, concealed by plastics bright, As we seek to bury deep the pain that binds us tight. The artificial flower wall is blissful ignorance, But should one flower break and fall the memories cease to dance. The past is painful but required for live to learn we must, Fake beauties die and ignorance will leave us naught butMemories
by ~Multicoloured-Mouse
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