Poison ivy holds grip around my neck,
Never letting go of my limbs, either,
Drawing on my skin with the poison so black,
When I fight it, it grabs me tighter.
Time is feeding me ambrosia and nectar,
How would I like if it's real,
For the memories, are only a specter,
Left by what once were we able to live and feel.
The dusty corner treasures a chair,
in it, memories swing back and forth,
Not responsive to yearning and prayer,
They keep swinging from south to north.
Here and there, I can taste the honey,
But it's bitter-sweet now,It leaves me with melancholy
and a wish to forget, somehow.
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We all have those memories we wish we could re-live,but we also have the ones that haunt us every so often.Thanks for reading :) Please, vote if you liked this poem!
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