We scream at the World in
wonderment, virgin senses at birth.
Each sensation, a piercing image,
remaining long after the discovery
becomes a common breath.
Harvesters of Time – we reap the
experience sown from infancy to
prime; of triumph and tragedy – the
offspring of choice or fate – firmly
embedded in our mind.
We will carry our memories with us
throughout our lives; and those we
meet, will see our past projected
from the clarity or dullness of our
eyes.
Memories
Michael Mcguire
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 03/27/2026
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Poem topics: birth, breath, fate, time, world, scream, long, mind, choice, experience, triumph, tragedy, common, prime, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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