Passing Age Poem by David Harris

Why are memories lost in the tempest of time,
cannot be resurrected to remember moments
from our childhood far away?
At the times when our hearts desire them,
yet on cloudy days in passing age
when they are least desired
they come back like building bricks
tumbling down a spiral stairs.
Exploding though our minds
like little fireworks, bursting momentarily bright
only to be lost again in the frigid night.
What triggers childhood moments
to pounce on us in absent days?
When life has us suspended
on the ladder of passing age.


7 December 2009