Footfalls in my memory
I lie unsleeping my mind in the past,
The memories linger of days held fast
of nights when truth seems so easy to see,
as footfalls echo in my memory.
My thoughts are bed sheets folded tight,
Wrapped in each other oyster-tight,
Held deep, writhing, unwilling to pass
on details encased in mind’s palliasse.
Tortuous the effort to find the truth.
Deceptions cloud the memory’s roots,
A passage taken, a door held wide,
Petals in a garden – deception and lies.
Footfalls’ false echoes residing inside
a brain being taken along for the ride,
times past and future both said to rest
in the now of lives where they manifest.
Only now can I behold the past
and time future lies snug in time past,
What might have been was never, you see.
Mere ghostly whispers alive inside me.
I know only footfalls in my memory.
(*acknowledging T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets: Burnt Norton –
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.