In thinking back about the times
That I felt veiled, or blind,
Perhaps it was my site was clear but
My thoughts were misaligned

How to know I cannot say,
If what I heard was said
Or what I saw or did not see
Was real, or in my head

I wonder why I feel no fear,
Or panic or dismay,
No unease that memories
May be counterfeit and gray

It seems to me there's little chance
That such a thing is true
I know which lights are green or red
And when the song is through

But the dark and silence of the night
Brings about a twist
Sometimes I promptly sit upright
Wondering what I missed

"There's nothing there, go back to sleep."
She says it's just a dream.
The days events all out of order,
Senseless and extreme

Now it happens more and more,
That when I am awake
What's clear to me by memory
Seems a little fake.

The musings of an idle brain,
Perhaps it's nothing more.
Or longing for a different past
With less to answer for

The second guess makes quite a mess,
Running through your mind
Scenarios, and only iffs, and
Notions you've designed.

Uncertainty, and lack of faith,
Noxious in the now
Seem to linger like tattoos
On memories, somehow.

The stain is everlasting,
The outset without doubt
The significance is furtive
But the brightness does fade out.

There's alleged to be more clarity
In hindsight. Perfect vision!
The images may be pristine but
Full of imprecision

More odyssey than pilgrimage,
On my private, inner sea
With gentle wind and placid swells
I still sail warily.

The surface calm belies the truth
In the annals we speak of
With all the risks that lie below,
It's best to stay above.

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