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We Who Can, Remember.


Age shall not weary the dead nor does it matter

For those who are deprived of memory.

But for those of us who remember the un-calloused fingers

Of our youth playing in the freshly barbered grass

Under suns of infinite pleasure with echoes of the chuckling of

Friends long gone in time and thought and space;

We who can, remember.

For those who remember the feel of another’s sex, their gentleness

Of sensation to the sting of reprisals; words said

in the heat of love and words tinged with its reverse,

The equally fiery furnace of malice;

We who can, remember.

No matter how brightly the sun shines nor how pristinely

Maintained our fields of green are kept, the chuckling we hear are but

Future calls of memories to come.

For those who will, will remember.

A. Ghebranious    2007                    All rights reserved

From → Poetry

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