Memory


I gaze in amazement at thoughts beyond my dreams,
Where nothing in reality unfolds as it seems.
I recall the history of people who once thrived,
In a place so remote, seemingly deprived.

They called out to me, a voice clear and profound,
"I'm your father," pointing, "heed the words I expound."
Then, from the depths of a dreary dream I stir,
Where fantasies lived and truths were a blur.

Never did I contemplate the novelty of life,
Nor anticipate good, or wonder rife with strife.
Only memories danced, masquerading as dreams,
In a world where nothing was quite as it seems.

The thought had never crossed my mind,
To live and die, and in dying find,
That perhaps every reality meets a grim end,
And that dreams may truths, in whispers, send.

Believing now what these visions portend,
That reality, too, fades to a memory in the end.

- Jerry N. Bustillo
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