Could but I know everything that I've done and thought and seen
At every moment
Then certainly I might learn something, learn from everything
To become one who grows from everything, into everything
Yet here is the rub, from this memory tub:
Naught stays afloat, on this yellow bath boat
Nary a ripple, and under soapy water I sink
A rhyme scheme or sunrise
Both pass on through
I saddle my bags
To a vehicle I can't find
This may be why
I hold onto so little
It helps me feel
As though I might remember at least
Everything I have
A foundation from which
Predictions might be built
It's a farce, though
For items are myths
And memory is a game of telephone
Between my ears
Homeric, an odyssey from many scribes
Sometimes compiled
For the ease of the reader
But never static
Nor in any one mind
Roman Ryan 