Memories Poem by Craig Fieldings

We classify them as short and long, but always coming and going. Vague are some but clear are those that we cheerish for when we need it the most.

The dark ones we rather forget. Sticking like thorns in the skull, they are vivid, relentless and haunting.

Late at night is when they come out to play, wandering around in the dark as though without a cause or purpose.

Sometimes they cleverly invite themselves in a dream that becomes more entertaining but often times incoherent.

The law of space and time has no dominion over it. A transient, making it's home wherever it pleases.

Everytime we retire for the day a chapter of our life has been closed, and filed away in that boundless data bank we all have called
memories.