I Don't Really Think So......

they all remember
their dead,
they make landmarks
of place they've been too
they make journals
to keep forever what happened
when they were still alive
they take pictures
preserve them
frame them and hang them in their
libraries
and living rooms
old faces, beautiful bodies
in their dresses
of their own times
and suits and
shoes,

sometimes i ask why?
why do we really have to remember?

when we all leave
what mind in us may still remember?
and will those who inherited our failures
and even fortunes
remember us?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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