Dust and Mothballs

Memories are not faded candid poloriods
Theyre like the crackling sound on rodial phones.
They are whisps of images and murmurs
And they dont come in a blue overtone.

Theres no music in the background
Nor do they look like theyre shot from above.
Sometimes theyre on their way out
And some you wish you could give a little shove.

Memories arent like videos on a tape recorder
With the grainy picture and flickering screen
Theyre the smell of the ocean and pine
The sound of a creaky kitchen chair with a lean.

Going through the attic and the boxes within
Dust and mothballs floating in the air
Bursting up freely as you find a box with your name
And that middle school yearbook with the tear.

How about flicking through the channels
And happening across reruns of your favourite show
Turn on the oldies and the song of youryouth plays
These are moments only you know.

These pictures, murmurs, and flashes
Theyre yours to fall back on

Memories are just perceptions
Yours untill theyre gone