Memories Shared

Memories Shared

The essence of a shady lane beckoned fair,
along the well worn road through the wood
unmindful and burdened not by earthly care,
and there in silent peace, my memory stood.

From what paths taken brought me to this place,
each their destiny a mystery, impossible to trace,
that among the results of each encountered turn
no signal given of what I would come to learn?

Never the less, now arrived by each path’s divide
over the many years taken leaves nothing to hide.

And the hapless gain of worldly goods drug along
are valued small standing next to memory’s song.

For in the end when little else beckons to obtain,
it is the memories, and even they will not remain.

The ones so treasured dear were ones we shared
by our friends along the way and together cared.

They are of things only then in our time and place;
not just a passer by, but those that knew our face.

All the objects, seeming needed and common place,
stand as memory’s soldiers, gone without a trace.

So, of those we’ve touched, and they to us the same,
no longer to this earth abide or are called by name,
where then, of all of them, are the memories kept?
Was it even real or no more than a dream as I slept?

John Mullinax July, 2010