Memories-A Blessing And A Curse Poem by Bryan Taplits

Memory is a funny thing. It's a blessing and a curse.
You can never know-when it dumps its largesse
If afterwards you feel better- or feel worse.
Its lode is in a prospector's pick that mines your second sight-
It is in it you find past sparkled pelf,
But after the mining is done and your luck has done run
Your reverie's 'fools gold' cries: 'Only fooling yourself'.
At first this mined beauty is like a new dawning
Which then leads, like the daylight, to the sunset's grumpy night,
It is then where one broods on the bitter 'what if's'-
Yes, it's painful to see such reflected lights.
The memory then is an enigma-
Sautéing into a jumble of sacred-visions mixed with a fry-crying curse-
It takes you round to that heaven now in the ground-
Where you drift and you slip in your bout-always second never first.
Of course there are some who will still want to bop
in this celestial coffee shop-
And volunteer to take on this trying new risk,
But since their jig is unsure (in rounds to be barely endured) -
The echoes of these memories is a word in the dictionary
These hoofers are labeled: 'Masochists'.