My Memories are Fading (a poem)

My memories, they are fading
Pictures of old days are rusting
Memories used to be cascading
Now, they are just crusting

Maybe I’m just getting older
And things I’m starting to forget
Old traumas no longer smolder
For my sins, I did repent

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Down in the Well (a poem)

At the bottom of the well, the air is damp and

it’s so dark I barely see my hands.

Down here, I move through my memory without

interference from the above-ground world –

I think so clearly that I travel through walls and

jump into dreams and hop back out.

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