Feather Quill

Memories

Don't we all sit and cry thinking of our memories? If it's sad, then we cry because it once happened. If it's happy, we cry because it won't happen again. But memories are always dangerous aren't they? They make you grow frustrated and scared.
This poem is written from the POV of a girl like us who's stuck in the haunted palace of her memories inside her head.

"Memories can haunt you"
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A ray of sunshine,
Was the life of mine.
The most blithe and beautiful,
Was it, clear and colourful.
I sang, " Hark! Oh dear heart, hark,
The carol bells from church park!"
I sang, "Run! Oh dear Soul, run,
Towards memories. Oh run!"

But only change is constant,
And past is never distant.
Right? Divine turned deadly,
But I still dwell dearly,
In the same, very same house,
With the fear it does rouse.
Why? I do ponder and wonder,
In the past, I forever linger.

All alone, in my past's palace,
But two hands, my face they caress,
calm and caring, grow cold and callous,
Am I really alone, in this palace?
Oh no! I'm not! How do I run away,
When I myself locked my only way?
But it's scaring me, it's chasing me,
Where do I hide, it's after me, for me.

The silence spoke so true,
"Memories can flaunt you,
Memories can taunt you,
Memories can haunt you."
But why? What wrong did I do,
For my own memories, you,
To torment and taste my eye's dew?
Was it the mistake of making you?

I desperately try to find a place,
To hide, but it's been days.
I don't seem to find one,
To turn to, I have none.
Except the memories from my past,
But they're the ones that I need the last.
Far in the distance I spot,
A place, like me, left to rot.

When I needed a place to hide,
Those grave gallows never lied.
To stop crying, very hard I tried,
But my shadows never cried.
Then the light blotted to dim,
Oh no! Am I my own victim?
Once I saw many colourful hues,
Now my heart is bleeding blues.

And behind me, I see it,
My memories, an endless pit.
I turn behind to see me, the old me,
Beautiful me, but beauty is now scary.
It slowly paces towards me,
"No!", my past's flashes I see.
"Go away! Leave me alone!", I plee.
But where will it go when I have the key?

At the gallows, it smirks,
Inside it, the evil lurks.
I must run before I'm dead,
But I'm pulled by life's thread.
It sings, "Hark! Oh dear heart, hark,
The death bells from church park!"
It sings, "Run! Oh dear soul, run,
From memories. Oh run!"

Sharon Mathew