dear memories

people roll in and out
of one's conscious life.

much like how the tide
moves onto the beach.

holds onto your toes,
grips you; and pushes you

firm into the granuled ground.
it chills and refreshes,

calms and enlivens,
but then-- as quickly

as it arrives-- it is gone.
Leaving with only dear

dear memories, of what was,
and what now is not.

people roll in and out
of one's conscious life.

much like how the ocean
swirls around the ship,

sinuously, kneading the sides
with a soft and firm caress.

supporting the load, watching,
providing danger and exitement.

pushing towards a destination
and at the same time restraining.

then the winds die down,
and there is calm and all is gone.

dear memories of what was,
and what now is done.

for leah southwell-wright

I close my eyes and remember you
sipping the cold, heavy and sickly sweet
substance, that brought about your end.

I remember you,
like you were sitting here
in front of me,

I remember,
your sarcastic tone,
and your narcassistic and

strangely meek style.

the way you moved around the subject,
and moved around others.

you caused them to spin with confusion.
(and then some).

but you looked on confused yourself.
unsure as well as completely sure.

a social commentator, never a sheep,
a leader to the unleadable.

you were revolutionary.

a legend.

I would worship the ground you walked upon

(if you still walked).