Author Information
Severe Inaccuracies
Babyproof the corners of memories for fear of accuracy.
In their calm confines, reality holds intricacies
That will never be recalled to the front line.
This world that we spritely recall,
Has been whittled down, fat from flesh,
To take a shape that is familiarly forged.
Who may tell us of our circumstantial introspection?
No one.
So why trust in blurred memories,
That have been mutilated by that
In which we owe them to?
Might I suggest, if you dare listen,
That we will never recall,
Our already fondest memories.
Naturally we have blemished those times
In which have also shaped us.
Our inaccuracies and deficiencies lie
In tainted thoughts of times turned tenuous.
