Miranda Bell

Memory In A Jar

One chance encounter
With fate itself,
Store the memory in a jar,
And put it on a shelf.

A sight, a gasp,
An attempt to grasp
The deception of reality,
The rare among the many.

But a one-sided shape
Is just a line
From life to death,
With no message sublime.


My eyes blur
To make things clear,
Someone like you
Somewhere so near?

The present and the past
Collide and just can’t last.
It would destroy the earth,
Death and birth immersed.

That’s why you can’t exist,
A dream so close to grasp
In a restless feverish sleep
In wake I’ll weep and ask:

‘Why was I the last to know
When you got up to go?
Back to the past, where you belong’
While your voice sings my song:

Memories can be forgotten,
But no matter how rotten,
They can be spat back out
To help feed the self doubt.

The Devil brings the past,
Well dressed and gift wrapped:
A feast for the eyes,
But for the soul, a surprise.

Shiny on the outside,
But rotten to the core:
Nothing can explain why
The chorus sings for more.

Arrogance,
Retold nights,
That smug look,
After victorious fights.

No care,
No tact,
No theatre,
No act:

Just you, the past,
Bathed in riches,
Tattooed on my mind,
Through the power of witches.

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 29, 2008

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Comments about Memory In A Jar by Miranda Bell

  • Sydney Kerr (1/29/2008 3:32:00 AM)

    This is absolutely incredible. I thoroughly love it. Excellent Excellent job.

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