Nature Of Memory Poem by Bernard F. Asuncion

A fragile thing, a phantom in the mind,
Where shadows dance and echoes softly play,
A wide sight sculpted by the years aligned,
Where truth and fiction blend in subtle sway.
We seek to grasp yesterday's brightest day,
A fleeting glimpse of what time has erased,
Yet memory's river flows in winding ways.

The past, a canvas, painted with our fears,
And hopes that blossomed in a bygone spring,
We filter moments through the passing years,
And frame the stories that our memories bring.
The weight of sorrow where old echoes sing,
Or the joy that cheers can alter landscape,
And make the present a memory's shape.

Is it a record, etched in perfect stone?
Or a subjective ever-shifting scene?
A tale we tell when we are left alone,
To reconcile what was and what has been?
The seeds of longing are sown in between,
For moments lost, and faces rarely viewed,
A fragile garden with old dreams renewed.