white--a perfect mesh of purity
Unblemished in its innocence and flawless in its weave
A virgin canvas waiting for an unknown artist's brush
A silken matte just waiting to receive.
Each breath of life brought images and particles of thought
Emblazoned on the fabric -- one by one,
Events imprinted boldly there, a record made complete
The memories of time were all but done.
Unfolded-folded-used again, this mural of her life
Till creases formed and images were blurred
And the loving caress and gentle hand of a family that cared
Could not undo the damages incurred.
Used and abused till threadbare images dimmed and disappeared
The aging canvas rots and falls apart
Memories replaced by holes of nothingness and dark
Edges frayed by time destroyed the art.
A flag when worn is burned -- destroyed with dignity and grace
But to the fabric of one's memory we're most unkind.
With images of life's events worn down--forever lost--
Her vacant stare reflects her shredded mind.
C. Stoker Nov 1994
Used with permission of the author