Bittersweet Memories.

A coolness to the air,
A stiffness to the breeze,
A host of thoughts and spiderwebs,
Of childhood memories.

A weight of unknown conscience,
A howling in my head,
'Sometimes life can cut you down,
Or pick you up instead.'

An old man in a rocking chair,
Puts withered hands to cane,
He sits on a veranda,
And stares out at the rain.

A child with long white curly hair,
Hand clasped in mother's hand,
A sense of familiarity,
A thing I understand.

The old man is my grandfather,
He lost his wife last year,
The young child is my sister,
It's our mother who holds her near.

The conscience haunting my every thought,
Is a recreation of my past,
It reminds me, unforgivingly,
That all things never last.