Some days.

Some days
I wonder
if all the words
I have collected
and filled
into shallow pockets
of mnemic traces
of my memory,
will spill out of me,
all at once
flooding over the expanse
of earth
that lies
beneath your feet


Will they overwhelm you
with their chaotic verb-filled
artifice
or will you be charmed
by the tender authenticity of
the semantics
they cleverly conceal?

When all is said and done,
will there be anything left of me?
Or will my spirit ebb away
from my body
as the essence of that
which once resembled
the semblance of me
flows
into streams
of
dogmatic
idiosyncrasy?

Some days
I wonder
if my poetry
is a window
into which you peek,
your only way
to get a taste of me.






Note: "The mnemic trace, the notion of unconscious memory that is essential in Freudian theory, results from the inscription upon the psychic apparatus of a perception that is strong enough to cross the barrier of the protective shield. This perception is totally unconscious, whereas the memory of it is conscious. Sigmund Freud envisaged the psychic apparatus as a system of multiple and complex facilitations of mnemic traces. The mnemic trace, usually sensory, can also be the trace of a thought, especially when it is verbal."

Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/mnemic-trace-memory-trace#ixzz2lyq47ATa