Holes in My Memories

Old friends tell amusing anecdotes,

Of fond times we shared before

And I laugh, hoping my eyes mirror,

The mirth that I can not recall,

Because I do not remember at all,

I search long and hard in to the night,

Trying to find a clue, a hint of what

Happened to those recollections,

These damned holes in my memory.


I am feeling old and outmatched,

I give advice freely on all things,

Wondering how I gained the knowledge

And talking at length about the world,

As if it is some place that I have been,

The stories filter back to me,

As though penned by a great poet,

But the historian in me recalls nothing,

These damned holes in my memory!

7 thoughts on “Holes in My Memories

  1. I call it ‘filtering’. Remember the lesson but not necessarily where it took place!
    You’re on a roll. :)x

  2. Bastet says:

    Ah yes…know the feeling, every time I meet someone and they know my name and I think I should know their name, but can’t remember where I met them… ;-/

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