Memory Poem by Thomas Ware

Normality is an illusion;
But for those skeletons in our closets it may still remain ours;
But those dry bones do not rest easy, nay,
And return to haunt us, day by day.

Those content do not dream,
For the ghosts have been laid to rest by oblivion,
But the mind cannot forget deeper down the remains of its conquests.
All that is is but a dread remembrance,
Regret and attempts to differentiate from the past.

From the beginning there was memory,
For at the start there was no emotion save instinct until there was,
And so all that we see or seem is but result of memory.

Those skeletons return and dance,
And some may find peace,
And some drown the voices,
And some face the demons,
And even these noble cannot truly forget,
But only cope and pass down the ghosts and memory.

For nothing is truly new,
And art is expression,
And innovation is but recombining,
And pie is but long dead stardust,
Consuming the ashes of our fathers.