Procrastinating is a waste of time.
Procrastinating is a waste of time.
An addled mind,
The dreams won’t let go.
Struggles to wake,
This battle’s for show!
There’s grit in my eyes,
And drool on my lips,
A crease on my cheeks,
And a kink in my hips!
I must be alert,
For this life I now live.
They take and I give.
All work and no play,
Or play and no work,
The rhythm’s all off,
I feel such a dork.
The answer is plain,
To questions I ask,
It must happen now,
An ominous task.
But do it I shall,
By the strength of my will!
I should be remembered,
For ages until . . .
I lay down beside me,
My pillow is soft.
Another five minutes,
Of dreaming aloft.
Time on this planet is short and there are those who are taking up too much of it.
This building has a story
Of ups and downs and love gone wrong
Of broken dreams and silly pranks
A childhood fondly lived.
But broken windows and sagging doors
Don’t hide another truth,
Illicit deeds and crimes concocted
Guns and knives and bloody wounds
Death has lingered here.
But now the future has a stake
Windows broken can be repaired
The doors and walls and ceilings too
And then the fun begins,
The floors and windows once again
Will hear the children laugh.
Pouring rains and winter storms
Are not welcome here.
Come inside and sit a spell
Our tale is still being written
This building’s taking notes.
I was talking with a friend the other night and she told me how she was going to take her two young daughters away for a Girls Weekend. I started to remember the wonderful trips I had taken with my parents when I was a child. Some trips were only for a day, a week, sometimes for a weekend and once for month. I cherish those memories! I remember being in a camper trailer and not having access to fresh milk. I was so excited to go a whole week without having to drink milk. I hated the stuff before the trip, loved it afterwards!
More and more of my childhood memories started to pop to the surface. They had been filed away just in case I wanted to look at them again. For a moment I wanted to get lost in the past. I could remember the feeling of my father’s arms as he carried me to bed. I could fall asleep anywhere. I could remember the smell of my mother’s hands when she was baking in the kitchen. I could remember the springy hair of Beau Brummel, our miniature poodle when he had been rolling in something noxious and he knew it. Damn, he was a smart dog!
Sadly, I knew I had to put them back in the vault or I would truly run the risk of getting lost. But I knew they were there. Locked safely away. Or so I thought. My mother started to lose her memories but she had told me the stories so many times I remembered them for her. We used to laugh about it. What happens when I’m gone!
The stories that she told me happened to people who are no longer alive. Who will remember them! My stories, my memories, what will happen to them? What will happen to my Memory Bank? I guess the question is a matter of beliefs. What do you believe? Do you believe that we live on in another form or are we recycled into the ether?
I don’t know. I know what I want to believe. But I don’t know. If Heaven exists it must be pretty crowded. Of course the same thing could be said for Hell. I do not believe the human mind is capable of understanding the next step. I certainly don’t. I don’t think logic comes into it and that is where you rely on faith.
I have my wonderful memories and one day they will all fade into the Cosmo as will I. Until that time I am going to continue to make deposits into my Memory Bank. How about you!
Time is a thief
Stealing our lives
And all that is costly
Each day it revives
We fight to hold on
We fight to remain
Perhaps we are wrong
And it’s time to refrain
The battle to fight
The battle to win
Is the one that is lurking
So deeply within
Enjoy what you have
Enjoy who you are
Your time here is finite
Let the exit be far
Seconds and minutes
Hours flitting by
Decades have passed
In the blink of an eye
Just moments ago
A new child was born
Then knees that were skinned
And hair that was shorn
Next dances and kisses
The girls and the boys
Years that go by
Now the price of the toys
A mortgage, a spouse
The whole package deal
This life it is real
After time you look back
To the highs and the lows
Some laughter, some smiles
And yes there were woes
But this life that was lived
Was yours for the taking
Remember it fondly
It was of your making
I write because I must
Drift among the scribbles of writer Janet Gogerty
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