Holes

Poem on the slippery-ness of memories

My memories swimming
Through deep foggy waters,
I’m trying to catch them
‘Cuz nothing else matters.

"Who am I?" I wonder,
For I can’t remember;
So many things lost
In this damn dreary river.

Alone on a damp bank,
I camp and I’m fishing;
Without line or sinker,
For tools I am wishing.

As a memory surfaces
I shout out in glee,
I grapple and squeeze it;
I won’t let it free!

The darkness it brings me
Is stifling, I suffocate;
I wanted and waited
For this memento of hate.

Is this what I really am?

This black curling fog,
The hatred and ugliness,
For more memories I long...

So I sit and I’m waiting,
Dig my toes in the mud;
And while I am waiting,
I lust for the blood.

Someday I will find it,
That which makes me whole;
Or is enlightening,
Light this bank oh so cold.

Until then I ponder
Watching lights dance far away,
And skipping and laughing;
For that light I pray.

"Do I need to hunt memories?"
My vacant mind asks
Am I fine with the emptiness,
Not knowing my past?