Some times go slower than other times move,
the old man in the supermarket row
is falling forever,
I have watched my mother die too slowly in pain,
I heard my newborns cry through thick walls
and forgot the sound of their cries very soon
like I forgot the face of death but in my nightmares.
Time seems neutral, but I know that memory
is never a true reflection, I can remember
your face though.
The old man may have lived on, my mother did not
feel her own death coming perhaps.
You won’t return and I shall not forget you,
some times are slower than truth, and my memory knows.