Making Memories

When I am old
What will I have
But my memories,
Sweet and not?

Thus while I am young
I should make haste
To experience all now,
That I want to do again.

For unless it is once lived
It cannot be re-lived.
And what a loss it would be:
Old age absent instant replay.

Ours is not, perhaps, the same
But no matter because the effect
Is sure to embrace us;
If only for a minute or two.

I so treasure my memory that
Each night I place it carefully
Inside my golden box
To which only I hold a key.

It is so complex, that memory of mine,
That at times I tap my head
Or even the table top before it
Rebounds with a smile and says, "Watz up?"

Nevertheless, it always does come around;
And it jets a surge of power in the process
Which throws a jolt or two
Toward bystanders who thought it out for good.

"Take that, you-- you -- You Who!" I murmur to myself.
For who else is listening?
I would put my boot on You Who's hiney, too
'Cepten my knees need a good greasen.

© Coninc., TheDownsideUp.Com 2010