The Persistence of Memory

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Morning sun caressed
my skin flooding a hazy
mind with memories of
you, your hunger with
longing infinite. I wake
up, start dressing slowly.

Resting on the tip of
my tongue is your name
waiting to be let out, to
be known, to be blamed.
I listen outside to the
assurance of the wind.

A wistful rose blooms
near the edge of a forest,
its petals unfurl as the sky
brings omen. When sun
goes down, I unravel
youthful lesson.

Night’s emblem of loneness,
that burns every inch of my
soul. Yet somehow you arrive
with words that touch, kiss
and send into oblivion.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Form: Twitter Poetry

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads

30 thoughts on “The Persistence of Memory

  1. Kerry says:

    I like the way that each part of the poem can stand alone, yet also forms a part of a greater whole. Fine writing.

  2. Magaly Guerrero says:

    “Resting on the tip of
    my tongue is your name
    waiting to be let out, to
    be known, to be blamed.”

    The contradictory nature of the first four lines of the second stanza work well to show us the mess relationships can be. The speaker says the name is resting, then is challenged by the lines that follow (it’s hard to imagine someone or something at rest, while it waits to be uncaged, to be seen, to be labeled culprit… There is so much anxiety in there. Love can be like that, a battle of images and feelings that only make sense to the one feeling them.

  3. Kim M. Russell says:

    The beginning of Your poem is like a long, languorous stretch, Sanaa. It strolls down my computer screen, sunny and warm. I like the way the tone turns on the phrase ‘to be blamed’, to introduce a note of doubt, and I feel he relief in the final stanza:
    ‘Yet somehow you arrive
    with words that touch, kiss
    and send into oblivion’.

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