A Choice of Colors

The beautiful moments are so rare, so precious.
You would expect them to become sharp,
implanted in in detail in your mind.

But that is not how it happens.
They are instead a beautiful blur,
a romantic old movie you turn to again and again,

too beautiful for details,
the colors leak out and color the harshness
of your darkness, that thing you cannot cure,

only defeat in the moment. And this,
the gentle blur of springs long past
are part of the how.

About this poem

We all have memories. Good and bad. And we are left to choose which ones we dwell on, which ones will drive our live, our self esteem, the way we live.

And yes, it can also be a poem about spring.

Tom