Maturation

Past a certain age, memories cease to fade.
They start to: take hold;
strengthen; and burrow through
the landscape of knowing.
Vintage wine is poured into new kevlar skins;
Memories are protected with ferocious tenderness.
Tectonic pressure of the time past
weighs on unformed coals of reverie
to hew diamonds of treasured memories.
They cut through the toughest glass of resistance.
The now surrenders to what once was.
They pull you away from the instant truth burning in your heart.
The past is no more real than the imagined future.
Liberately drink your vintage wine;
Throw your diamonds in the fire.
Let them burn as fuel on your journey to the exploding stars.