Remembrance

April 3, 2015 By: Tekeisha Meade 

The persistence of memory, The evacuation of time. As it ticks, and as it tocks, the clocks start to melt, Like two ice cubes in the summers yellow sun. As the clocks strike seven Strike three Or even twelve – and all the other numbers in between, The clocks start to wither away Melting from exhaustion.

Time begins to not play a factor in life, but Become a problem in reality, A question then arises in the horizon The teal and baby blue sky mixed with pale yellow Seems to calm ones troubled mind From having this question come to an existence: With the evacuation of time, will there be a persistence of memory?

As the trees loses its crowns, leaves and branches, The trunk and its soil Remain as a remembrance, of what it used to be, Time made it die – essentially But memory gave it life.

As the clocks continue to melt Memory is the main attraction And life goes on… While the brain tries to capture and remember every moment in detail, Unlike a digital camera capturing a single moment In a single flash It tries to remember when people are born, and when people die.

You will recall that moment when something that resembles a bird Mixed with a dove With human eyelashes die, Next to the horizon with pale yellow and blue hues All you will have is that memory… As time melts away.

The memory Of the ants parading around on the dark orange water jug That sits on a counter overlooking the earths surface With carefully selected pigments of yellows and blues While time withers away.

The persistence of memory? The evacuation of time? As it ticks and as it tocks, the clocks start to melt, Like two ice cubes in the summers yellow sun And all you will have is the perception of memory To remember it all.

Contributors Note: Tekeisha Meade's poem is inspired by Salvador Dali's painting "The Persistence of Memory."