Such Are Memories

Memories constantly assail us. In later years of our lives this onslaught becomes more aggressive and intense. They are constantly there, and they must be endured. Better still, they must be embraced.

But are memories a sin, or are they a salvation? Are they a pain or a palliative? Do they torment, or do they teach? Do they augment or do they attenuate?

To live without memories is unimaginable. Consider a life without memories! And therefore, loss of memory is death itself.

And we seldom live in the present, and our incursions both into past and future are a function of our memories. The thought of future is not embedded in present but in the images of past. Is it not strange that we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures?

Memories can turn you into a philosopher. They may infuse our thoughts with a  reflective insights A  deeper contemplations on the nature of memories, their impact on our existence, and the interplay between past, present, and future, provide a perspectives with a different hue.

Such Are memories

In the twilight of life, memories surge, 
Their whispers more frequent, their presence a dirge. 
Haunting, they visit with relentless might, 
Yet in their embrace, we find a strange light.

Are they sin or salvation, pain or relief?
 Do they torment or teach, bring joy or grief? 
Memories, a cascade, both torrential and soft, 
A kaleidoscope of moments, aloft.

In school days, a love lost, a first marriage's bloom, 
Triumphs and defeats, and the shadowed gloom. 
They arrive unbidden, in slices of time, 
A film of our past, in rhythm and rhyme.


Now past seventy, these memories gleam, 
Sharper and brighter than the original scene. 
Emotions expanded, more vivid, more grand, 
A perfected image, like a sculptor's hand.

Memories sensual, with cravings untamed, 
Yet impossible to live without, they remain. 
Celebrate them we must, as they hold us so dear, 
The tender moments and the haunting near.

For in a glance, a touch not shared, 
Lies a depth of feeling, beyond compare. 
The playful jest, the fleeting kiss, 
The silent gaze we forever miss.

In the shadows of our past, we find our truth, 
The essence of our being, from youth to youth. 
Each memory a thread in the fabric of time, 
Interwoven with moments, both simple and sublime.

What is a memory but a fragment of soul, 
A glimpse of the infinite, making us whole? 
In the dance of existence, they play their part, 
Echoes of eternity, etched in the heart.

Time flows like a river, yet stands still in the mind,
 A paradox of being, where we seek and we find. 
The future is but a mirror of the past’s embrace, 
Reflections of moments we cannot erase.

In the labyrinth of life, memories guide our way, 
A compass of wisdom, by night and by day. 
They teach us to live, to love, to forgive, 
The lessons of life, through memories, we relive.

Such are memories, profound and true, 
The essence of life, in all that we do. 
A philosophical journey, from birth to the end, 
Where memories and existence, eternally blend.

Such are memories, a mosaic so vast, 
The essence of life, from first to the last.