The wind whispers the words of ghosts haunting my memory in flashes of sweet, silent clarity,
and I remember.
I remember souls reaching as waves grasping for shore
And I remember joy
I remember hearts yearning as I had never endured before
And I remember love
by Mark Griffin
My memories make me me, don’t they?
The stories I tell; the loves I’ve known
and lost. But what if those memories fade and haze.
Where’s me then?
by Jem Tovey
When first we met I was quite young, still in primary school,
I liked to push the boundaries, always first to break the rule.
On my way home with schoolfriends we came across some crates,
Of illicit Bulmer’s cider, so we thought we’d have a taste. Continue reading “It Isn’t Me – It’s You!”
in sepia restored,
clad in khaki, fodder for foes