Phantasmagoria

A poem is like a memory of a dream after waking…

 

A fragment…

A vignette…

A story marginalized by frames…

…captioned by time.

without a beginning…

a middle…

or end.

 

And as the river of time passes by,

the strips of memories

scream to                          f a  d   e

yet, it echoes

bouncing back

incompletely

from your mind

and curiosity, leaving you

wondering about how things

could have transpired.

 

But you will never                                remember

since it never really matter

and you’re back to this ugly world

because we are bound to                               forget

but never                          surrender.

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About Placido Penitente

I am what I write and I write to live. I am an Epiphany. A part of my consciousness travels endlessly around the universe...and inside the halls of your mind. Nothing personal. A part-time sociopath. Male. Republic of the Philippines. College student. Literature Major. View all posts by Placido Penitente

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