I wander through the halls of time, within the labyrinth that is my mind,
Upon these walls of memories, hang past times hung as tapestries.
I glance away from scenes of pain born in sorrow of battles pitched on life’s field,
The war for which there are no weapons one can wield.
Relics of my youth sit silent, as the ghost of my past laughs from chambers holding innocence and beauty that can never last.
Sealed away in dungeons are the hauntings of regrets, tortured cries of consequence chained by decisions met.
Draped urns hold memories long burned, the ashes of the past held now in deaths cold clasp.
Within this cemetery of my memory, a thousand voices cry out, each pleading with me in desperate shouts.
These tombs are haunted by the ghosts of memory, a specter filled menagerie.
Erected is a mausoleum, to hold my dearest thoughts, a granite home, for the most precious of apparitions life has wrought.
I place upon its gate that single flower blue, a blossom found among the herbs, with magic, as it will forever bloom.
As death lays claim to seconds as they pass, with him owning all that is the past,
I wait for his knock upon my door,
I will say, “welcome”, to be buried among these memories, to make them no more.
