Cruel Memory

The past in all its permutations

The loss of word

Friends who should have been kept

Friends who were tossed away

Temporary loves

Long term loves

The never loved and wanted to love

The punches of regret

Things wanted to be forgotten return

Things wanted to be remembered disappear

Ripples of time that change memories

once truth become lies

then lies become truth

Cruel memory is a criminal

that murders what we think

and destroys what we are

from then on

Barry G. Wick

Incomplete

Here is the myth
that doesn't believe in me
There are magic legends
that surround it in amazing colors
It is sometimes a feeble blue
on the edge of purple
I'm not orange enough
for it to accept my myths
that cling to my hands and feet
They clash like demons
at the edge of my driveway
that send a shower of sparks
alternating numbers from one to five
I keep repeating the legends
but never get to see the myth itself
I want it to be red
but that's me
I dance in my breech cloth
that is patterned
in orange and yellow
Jealous natives who dance
in their ghost suits
pat me on the shoulder
in expectation of some new legends
that create a different set of numbers
This is the essence of the myth
It can't accept me yet
This is what shames me

Barry G. Wick