Birth/Death of a Memory

It all starts with that being, what we call an incident
It pokes and pricks
Drills and jabs
Then you try to dissect it
learn what it is made of
But all seems complicated
Like the only problem remaining to be solved by mankind.
Then you give up and try to kill it
By burying it
Under piles of paper, sounds, films and all those things
But it only grows powerful
Casts a spell
Makes itself omnipresent
Then it digs, all those graves
Brings back all the dead soldiers of its tribe
Then forms a family, of happy tormentors
Then you feel everything is connected
Then you sink
deeper and deeper
And then the flip happens
Sometimes in months, some times in days
sometimes in just a few minutes
Suddenly it is dead
the tyrant is dead
And you wonder what killed it
And then you smile
uncontrollably
on your foolishness