The Mists of Time
the mists of time
Memories from time and space
What are memories, but the passage of time and space,
Tethered to events more meaningful than most.
What are memories, but the passage of age and grace,
Entwined with love and hate, but at what cost.
So now that I am at the sunset of my life,
I remember the passage with mists in my eye.
So now that I am at the dawn of another strife,
I think about the meaning of what it is to die.
From birth to death, time consumed, events construed,
To encompas the perplexities with life's utter complexities.
But then what memories could easily be so subdued,
Than the ones that are not etched in stone and anxieties.