There is a memory on the tip of my tongue,
On the edge of my mind,
Something tugging at my thoughts,
Some-kind of history of me.
***
There is something hiding in my past,
Hidden in the darkest parts,
Somewhere out of reach and out of place.
Out of reach from others hearts.
***
There is the whips of a memory,
Like milk dissolving in water,
Poignant as if it is crystal clear,
Locked away from me getting near.
***
The closer I get to the spot,
The further away the thought,
Never to be remembered,
But always on my mind.

©The Pesky Poet

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