An archipelago of memories

On laboured nights such as these
life is a slow death,
memories and lies entwined
like leaves that fall
in ones and fours
to cover and colour my unkempt mind
where even the small memories are fading
so I set them free to a listless wind;
I have no use for them any more,
I care not which rise and fall
for we will all be but memories in the end
befouled by some, all by time,
on laboured days such as these
life is a slow death
and I stand loveless in its shadow,
forgotten, whilst still alive.

© D. Archer. August 2013.

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