Poetry Archive

Old memories

The relationship between self-righteousness and memory


My pride has always been
That I have tried to do what's right
But last night I had a dream
Of those who wounded me in spite

It was awkward to interact
They were acting so cool
Ignoring me, but it was an act
And now I was no fool

Now their whispers I could hear
About things I had said and done
Every giggle became a jeer
For them, it was just a bit of fun

Violent thoughts, by pain and hate, inflated
Smashed the holy walls I had created