My excursion into silence usually
comes when I'm waiting for digestion
to relieve overindulgence as I
reestablish the soothing impressions
of my too old, too worn, please dear
don't replace it, we're friends, chair.

The comfiness spreads
from nose to toes and opens
the door to that place where
memories are raising their
me first voices, each touting
their importance.

Memories are pretty darned important
when there are more yesterdays than
tomorrows. I prefer memories to
photographs because they take away
that 'spin' your heart has developed.

It would be a nifty poem,
you know, how memories grow
in silence, but I learned that
some things are best left
a silent memory.