Ode To Memory (Poem)

I walked the street
Worn shoes played host to my exhausted feet
Second fiddle to the rain was the hat I had worn
My shirt clean white, soaked through and torn

And I stopped. In the cold, harsh wind and the pouring rain;
To replay, in my head, the moments I would never feel again
A poet, a writer, a thinker I am –
Nay, a thinker, a writer, a poet I was.
For what is past is past, the time forgotten song
Of the days of my memory, in which shall I
Forever belong.

I walked the street
Worn shoes played host to my exhausted feet
Second fiddle to the rain was the hat I had worn
My shirt clean white, soaked through and torn

She saw me amid the bustle of the square
Alive forever in memory – blue eyes, brilliant gold hair
And her smile for a moment relieved me of sadness
And only then did I find that she was not
There.

Reach out did I, to take her hand –
In the distance, I heard the roll of the big brass band –
Once more from her hair I picked out a strand
“This yours, I believe, Ma’am?”
And in words I cannot regale how grand
My life at this time was.

And O, how my thoughts cast back to this – 
That, o’ an ode to memory

My only
My ode
To memory.

She died in a fire one New Year’s Eve.
We were to wed in April, and how my heart grieved
For the one I had loved, O more than all else – 

- ‘Tis my only

‘’My ode to memory.’’

Literature Poetry


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