THE MEMORY THIEF
A thief comes in the night
scooping memory from reluctant skulls.
Next day, a little more gone.
He tucks the memories under his coat,
casts them to the four winds like ashes.
Another grey head laments, where is my mind?
Next he steals orientation;
more lamentation.
The thief is always busy throwing things away.
"No use to me, he says,
I cast fates to the wind,"
having no memory himself.
raypool
Sat 12th May 2018 17:44
Many thanks Cynthia for coming back to this one.
Ray