Memory

Memory is
a fragile thread.
Thick in places
but thin in most,
at times the
strand that connects
present to past
appears to be broken,
invisible even,
so much so
that large chunks
of our lives
lie beyond our
ability to recall them.
Events that linger
are allied to
happier times
when life burnt bright
and the flicker of light
illuminates the paths
we wish to retrace.
Shrouded in shadow
is the road
less well traveled,
those darkened
trails of turbulence
pitted with pot holes
that conspired to
derail our momentum.

Yet ever forward
we traverse
because in life
there is no reverse.
Time propels us forward,
in a clockwise fashion,
with every second
tick-tocked
by the clock.
Our brains
store each moment:
categorising,
prioritising,
segmenting,
classifying,
squirelling away
nuts of nuance
and notion
deposited in banks
of varying interest.

Withdrawal is not guaranteed,
irrespective of the balance.