Remembering

At times his mind like treacle thick and black, slow flowing

Of days so laughter filled yet now mere echoes remain and drift

across mist shrouded distant views of vistas once so bright and clear

and to those things he clings yet through frail fingers slip

Forgotten Sepia faces smile back knowingly from curled cornered photos

and in the dark they call his name, voices long forgotten and shut out

and though he turns in search of face familiar

he stands alone and yet

the things he pushes down and back and out of reach they call

reminding him of thoughts dark as pitch and deeds to match

and with covered ears he chooses to forget once more

and into restless silence slips…