Memories In The Old Brain
-the smell of water
a scent hanging in the air
a trail through parched, barren land
now greened by rain
in a time of plenty.
the taste of marrow
fresh from the cracked bone,
touched by a fire
that lights the way
to a time of plenty
the sight of a day
over savanna grass,
sight without mystery
without awe
or the art to feel the dawn
and see the light with a new eye
in a time of plenty
the sound of a wild call,
a beast
stirring the heart,
a heart yet to be gripped
by the savage's siren call
to a time of plenty.
Memories deep in my core
of scent, taste, sight, sound
water, fire, light, howl
-memories from a time undefined
-before memory shaped
light and dark into day and night
-before memory became
slave and master of time.
I am a child of these memories,
before and after.
Dancing to the rhythm of time
I am old
in a time of plenty.
poem by Ronald Shields
Added by Poetry Lover
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