Memories are like dirty flies,

buzzing annoyingly,

over the past strewn with festering wounds,

Open, oozing with stink and pus.



Memories stinging here and there, vengefully

Leaving their noisome fingerprints on the face of the present.

Keep these flies from hovering over the septic wounds of the past,

One by one, banish them all from buzzing over the past

Lest an infected future is born.

Let the present arise, clean itself and cover with a neat white bandage

each wound of the past.

Let the wounds heal in peace.

Rejoice a fresh morning.
Celebrate every morning.