Past Imperfect (Poetry)

I’m far from certain, looking back
if memory plays fair because
perception alters, windows crack —
the view less clear than once it was ...

Old lines I thought I knew by heart
have slipped away beyond recall
I cast my mind back to the start
but Time’s unlearnt them — one and all.

The years like some wet canvas run
their colours mingle — blur to grey
and Youth’s a fading, misty sun
whose glow still lingers — haunts each day.

The picture painted long ago
with words inked in a bluer pen
appears imperfect since I know
I was a different person then.