By Debra-Lynn Swearingen Memories of you from photographs faded streams of light they form my recollection and I close my eyes real tight I can almost hear your voice and see you standing near lingering in the moment forgetting you’re not here Memories are so fickle rushing from joy to sorrow happiness etched in minutes no promised earthly tomorrow But O’ how I return to yesterday and long for times gone by lingering in days of yore an old familiar cry So I wonder if memory is gift or a curse? The past is better than it was reality—all the worse For here I am without you no wishing’ll bring you…