burned

into my memory cells,
every hurt,
every wrong done,
as a baby,
as a child;
every silly slight,
held small in the
offender's eyes,
but in my mind's camera,
so, so very bright;

into my memory cells,
all the dismal failures,
upon which
one's mind dwells,
as a young one,
as an adult one,
and yet:

into my memory cells,
there is seared
You,
and that makes
all of the rest,
ignorable.



July 28, 2009, for the Wifey. Which the bitch will not get to read. Ha ha. Hey, that rhymed. I may be onto something. Ha ha.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.