An object of memory.

From the paint on the walls
Laboured long over time
A memory was laid down
That memory once mine
White washed and forgotten.

Like the withering leaf
Of drawings on paper
By childhood's release
No more such vision in demand.

Empty and clear
The wind breezes through and
No longer the memory
Of mine here to do
Damage to mind
As your mind passes too.

Apologies nought
A display of mere truth
Beliefs are but dust now
The work built into
Civilities web
As each life weaves and ebs.

But so lives on the memories
Strong in our lives
Ones close to home
Compulsions that thrive.