The Game
By: Jurri Saddler Jr.
Written: 04 Sept 2014

My memory has a tendency to make shadows
Blacking out things that I used to know
I can see experience flee and contort
Like a maze with no end, out of sorts

Last night my fingers fell wildly stale
Over written memories that fatally fail
To inspire emotion from a stalled state
There is no chance to resuscitate

Words meant to light up our connection
A stoic friendship meant for detection
Yet signed platitudes are hard to decipher
Bonds diminished by life’s accidental sniper

When heat spills on books meant to chill time
A side effect in a mind prone to decline
Recollections, like steam, tend to evaporate
The structure of brain much weaker than slate

So I cling to eyes for some solid foundation
Reminding myself of our joint creation
But I know that time is fond of the game
With ubiquity of people, recognition is maimed