That Was Then, Not Now
The pastness of the past
cuts deeper than the other facts
the consciousness must bear.
Memory is unreliable, of course-
re-coloring savored scenes-
paler here, more saturated there-
aligning fondness and event
more suitably. In any colors,
the harrowing doneness of the done
smears the emptier now
with enervating shades of gray and black.
Contrast energizes loss. Recollection
proves the mind an open system after all
and engineers a few small steps
that dance ahead of entropy.
cuts deeper than the other facts
the consciousness must bear.
Memory is unreliable, of course-
re-coloring savored scenes-
paler here, more saturated there-
aligning fondness and event
more suitably. In any colors,
the harrowing doneness of the done
smears the emptier now
with enervating shades of gray and black.
Contrast energizes loss. Recollection
proves the mind an open system after all
and engineers a few small steps
that dance ahead of entropy.
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Author's Note
We are all unreliable narrators
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Perfect analogy. Love the last stanza, especially "... a few small steps that dance ahead of entropy. *
True.*
I like the "pastness of the past" and the "doneness of the done".
I like most of all
"recollection proves the mind an open system after all and engineers a few small steps that dance ahead of entropy"
Thank you, Matt, Amanda, and Samuel.
Yes. The pastness. *
Thank you, John.