Memory paints with a beautiful brush, on the canvas of my mind. I can rummage through it’s vast storehouse to see what pictures I can find. I can parade these images on a private screen and feel the warmth those memories can bring. I can weave the fabrics of that hallucinary dream, whilst choirs of angels sing. I can colour those recollections, in shades to match my mood, for in the most part those memories that remain with us, are very often good.
Memory paints with a beautiful brush even of loved ones long since dead, such thoughts are with me here and now, strolling sedately through my head. I can reach out, I can touch them, I can pass the time of day. I can select a chapter from my past and like a video, can replay the memories that are pleasing and do not upset a wounded heart, and with that magic brush of memory, bring forth those that did depart.
Time and distance is no obstacle for this artistry of mind, the exercise, it soothes me and brings me a peace I could not elsewhere find. For in this I am the creator, the artist with the brush I control the scene, control the pace, for there’s no need to rush. I can review those special moments and take hours to replay the scene. I can deliberate upon conversations and decipher exactly what they mean. I can relive such moments almost any time or anywhere, even in a crowded room, or when no one else is there. Memory paints with a beautiful brush, it paints to one’s desire. It’s just a thought as you sit at home, staring into the fire.
Loyd David Burt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-in-a-flickering-flame/
