Maundering Memories

Memories become vibrant motes of matter

Meandering the miasma of my mind

Sometimes they might escape the latter

To maunder amidst the debris for us to find

Where ghosts of our past greet us like strangers

And our skeletons coalesce to form a relic

Yet we scamper—still—into uncharted dangers

Unsure if they are hellish or angelic

Intertwined with our wounds and our wonder

Are the stories that brought them to life

Though I dare not tear them asunder

Lest the action lead ever on to strife

Perhaps we will settle now, embrace the contented quiet

And wait for these memories to stir again and start anew their riot.