Why are memories lost in the tempest of time, <br />cannot be resurrected to remember moments <br />from our childhood far away? <br />At the times when our hearts desire them, <br />yet on cloudy days in passing age <br />when they are least desired <br />they come back like building bricks <br />tumbling down a spiral stairs. <br />Exploding though our minds <br />like little fireworks, bursting momentarily bright <br />only to be lost again in the frigid night. <br />What triggers childhood moments <br />to pounce on us in absent days? <br />When life has us suspended <br />on the ladder of passing age. <br /> <br /> <br />7 December 2009<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/passing-age/
