Restless

Restless

The mind turns in on itself.

Ever restless, it haunts

The passages of the past.

Opening long-closed doors,

Peering in through dust

And easy forgetfulness.

Looking for something

It can find some use for,

Something it can believe in.

 

Filed under: Dreams, Events, Fear, History, Journeys, Memory, Moments, Mystery, Poems, Poetry, Possibilities, Secrets, Time, Words Tagged: memory, poem, poetry, writing