Remembering Never To Forget

How easy it is to forget.

 

Distracted by life, with all its bright lights and noise.

A love that was a business contract,

My heart, turned to a corporation.

Weighing assets and losses,

              and what was there to gain?

Dreams are faceless employees, many become expendable,

              If the price is right.

Days become investments, as I tried to see it through.

 

How easy it is to walk away,

From the self that you are born with.

To never even realize…

For I was so lost,

Lost within myself and the life I had created.

My mind filled with the question “Life is…”

Forgetting, I had answered that years ago…

Life is, and always will be, art.

 

The death of creativity,

Not acknowledged until it returns.

The presence casting light upon an absence, never noticed.

A hole that was filled with objects and accomplishments,

Meaningless motions labeled as progress.

A reminder, that when too much weight is placed on titles we topple,

Into shallow graves, buried, with our dreams, now distant memories.

Hidden behind the mundane moments we are covered by

 

A critical part of myself was lost,

Not given away but slowly faded,

Like an unobtrusive sunrise birthed not with radiant explosive color,

But quietly, moment by moment �" shades of blue blending and mixing.

Moments pouring into more moments, where it is not night but still not day

Until, it is. And something is gone.

Something you thought as permanent and necessary as a limb

Not cast aside, but neglected a little more with every dawn

Until one day, it is forgotten

Left behind, in the space we reserve for the useless whims of childhood

And other “unimportant” things.

 

So, it is with great and overwhelming joy that I remember,

My life has always been poetry,

And poetry is never what it seems.

Who I am, has never been as important as what I can create.

 

It is with tears in my eyes that I remember,

To listen to my heart,

The wisdom it brings and the tunes that it sings.

To welcome back the subtle whispering of ideas.

Words, fragments and phrases that casually skitter through my mind,

Waiting to be caught by inspiration, and transformed.

 

I remember,

That there is no high that compares,

To the electric current of words demanding to be written,

And the cathartic release when those demands are met.

To the exuberance of the soul when it revels in the beauty of something, made from nothing

 

And, it is with the sobering knowledge of a passion almost lost, that I remember,

There was a time in my life when nothing was as important,

As being able to invoke emotions in another with my words.

When nothing mattered more,

Than spending hours patiently coaxing abstract ideas from the recesses of my mind

Fingers, pouring words, the very essence of my soul,

Laboring over my creation.

The time it took, unimportant

Because there was a poem waiting to be born.

 

But second chances are never given lightly,

Far too often we don’t realize what we have lost until it is too late,

Until we are left with only the empty, heavy knowledge,

Of what we have given away.

My heart now threatens to burst with the ecstasy of these memories,

Each beautiful phrase that tumbles into my mind brings tears to my eyes.

But on top of all my memories, I must remember this:

All that I have remembered now, will be nothing, if I do not remember never to forget again.

 

Reviews

[Kitty Davies]

I am in love with this poem. Really, I can't bring up any points I feel that you should improve upon, but there is a stray quotation mark in line 27 (approx.) Keep being amazing :)

[Mim]

Thank you so much! I am glad you enjoyed it - this was a very powerful and personal piece for me, the first poem I have written since my "return" to writing, so to speak. So thankful for your kind words :)