It's Still Life

 
The Victor Writes the History

I keep those memories, treasure them, fall in love with them – over and over again. I colour each one with a whitewash tint to fit, add lilac fragrance like punctuation, form and reform (memories are so delectably malleable), and no one corrects perception, ones private and privileged view, and I hold vigil over my manipulated and reworked history. Exquisite, now, those memories, now that I’ve copied them out in my neatest hand. For me to relive. To suit my needs.

I fell on your words
pierced by eloquent swords
I still remember

written dVerse Poets: Haibun Monday