Last night,
I dreamed of a long unseen friend.
In the morning,
I asked myself for meaning.
There is none,
There is only memory.
A grain plucked,
From the sandy beach of the past.
Entertainment,
Furnished from black and white reels.
I wondered,
Is my mind now trickster to my age?
This friendship,
Has been ground less by time.
Some do say,
Time makes a friendship stronger.
I say,
Time is a flesh devouring rasp file.
In the end,
All memories will be gone.
What is left,
Only bone and bone cannot remember.
Copyright: 2008 Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 