Unheard Words



poem memory



Sweet memory,
You are like a hidden valley,
Flowing with a secret river,
Filled with looming trees
In the dark twilight of recollection.
Deep within me, a place only I know of,
My very life courses by
And comes upon you,
Nearly forgotten of
In the quick, ceaseless current of living.
But when I am quiet,
Contemplatively cognitive,
I float by
And see the sweet things you provide;
Once I strayed into your shelter
And planted seeds;
Now look how they have grown!
For if once your valley was empty,
Now it grows,
As I have grown,
And here once again,
I see new lushness.
I have passed you by,
And left you behind;
But you see:

I am a wanderer,

And when I pull my raft to shore,

I stray back over the hills

To you,

My sweet memory.

Often I will sit by,

Under the many boughs hiding you,

Swaying in the breathing wind.

And sometimes,

I see upon the branches

The precious fruits;

They are delightful,

A dreamful dallop;

Though they do not sustain,

They nourish the mind

And feed the longing

Of the weary wanderer.

Oh my sweet memory,

If I am to go by

Every day of my life,

Passing your many places;

If I am to speed down my destiny

Without stopping,

Then I would be like a wraith:

Empty of joy,

Empty of self,

For it is your valleys

To which I shall go

And rest my soul

When the river flows into the pool

And my raft is tied to the dock.

© Graeme Brown, 2005 (all rights reserved)

Also, read about Graeme's personal experience of