The Rim of Memory

Nothing, 
nothing at all was left, 
at the rimof memory. 

Everything had fallen, 
into a drunken, 
smoked out, stoned, haze, 
all selfish involvement. 

Spending time, 
diving deep, 
finding nothing,
despite looking, 
nothing to see but black. 

"I am no one... I am no one..." 

Something, 
something still pulled me, 
toward the light I barely saw,
still held down by scattered thoughts, 
ignoring those divine tugs, 
on the outer edges of the rim of memory. 

"I walk away...I walk away..." 

I am aware of the serious consequences of harsh words, 
an impulsive slap, 
unpredictable rages, 
and how those vibrations continues to echo around the rim of memory, 
and today, 
I can see the outline of my face, 
in a long ago mirror, 
fixed on a wall, 
near the rim of memory, 

I drank the blood of Christ, 
my lips on the rim of the chalice, 
in my minbd I could see the light, 
long supressed, 
coming back to my mind, 
still hazy but starting to make sense. 

"I am no one... I am someone..." 

The door, 
remaining open, 
and when I reach, 
that threshold, I pray it remains open, 
dark, becoming light, 
slowly returning to a sense of being. 

T.S. Deary 
11/30/23