a thought, emerges

an irking, "quick! grab ahold of it!"

your side is remembrance and the other forgetfullness

a game, tug of war

but it slowly slides and gives way

gone

leaking out of the 'so called' grasp of memory

the feeling still there reminiscing 

but the meaning has long since turned its back

             I wonder where they all go?

to some dark place in the back of the mind

far away from curiosity, youth, and brightness

where they churn thoughts into vacancy

and a little evil ruler sits atop a pile of them all

"been collecting for years," he'll say

to think them again,

   is what I desire

but that's a quest for a great soldier only 

who's willing to risk being turned

INTO A THOUGHT