An unseen hand turns the pages of time
And ages fly by but the sky still remains,
And does the range of humanity change?
Time, it seems, has been a poor teacher,
And history, too, an ill-sought preacher;
Thus the same lessons are taught
And oh-so very quickly forgotten
By unruly pupils who never do graduate
But so contemptuously self-congratulate
For achievements that grow cold
As their age grows old with time
As that unseen hand turns another page,
And for all our rage, we pass as shadows
Into the frightful blight of historic night,
But the sky still remains and gives rain
To wash away the stain of our humanity
. . .
An unseen hand turns the pages of time,
Page after page, age upon age upon age
Tag: Present
Today is the Day
Yesterday is a stream already flowing into the ocean,
Tomorrow is but a dream still blowing in the wind,
But today, my friend, is the cream of life to be drunk
Without being sunk into despair in the affair of living;
Today is a moment of prayer, repair and the welfare
Of your soul, which can be a bowl of poison or good;
What do you choose? To gain thru your pain or lose?
. . .
Yesterday is a stream already flowing into the ocean,
Tomorrow is but a dream still blowing in the wind,
But today, my friend, today . . . today . . . this one day
Wrestling With Ghosts
Waking up with heavy heart
Past memories levy their taxes
Failures take axe to my soul
Regrets demand their toll
As I roll in tearful remorse
Over the course I took then . . .
In the past
But what of the present?
Forlorn under crescent moon
That illumines haunting images
And daunting challenges now
To be what I can no longer be,
And who will see and save me?
My shirt is wet from tears,
But do I cry for those I hurt,
Or is this more self-pity?
No, no little ditty of self-pity,
It is for the wreckage left behind
To which I’ve been blind for . . .
Oh God, forgive me! Relieve me!
Believe me when I say, ‘I’m sorry’
. . .
Last impressions from the past,
First thoughts brought by morning,
Warning for today not to go that way,
And I have learned by being burned,
But, oh, this heavy heart torn apart!
This heavy heart torn apart!
Relief: The Lunatic’s Rave
Indeed, have ten thousand fallen down all around,
While I myself lie prostrate on blood-soaked ground;
One misstep following another, I fell without sound;
Darkness draws near ~ pain and suffering abound.
And, lo, does the deadly pestilence stalk at night,
And terror in the darkness that no man can fight!
Behold, the pale horseman with his quiver of plight,
Arrows striking the very sun to blacken all light!
Listen! Here is a mournful sound without harmony
Rising from unknown tombs in earth and sea!
Dead souls given voice in the council of eternity,
To clamour for justice denied heartless cruelty!
And now is this high refuge become my low grave?
And hope no longer lives there is Someone to save?
Must I, too, await relief but in death’s cold wave
When finally does Mercy silence the lunatic rave?
Note: Originally published sometime in the summer of 2012 and can also be found on the Slightly Poetic Slice of My Life page
Yesteryear
Yesteryear is somewhere I hold not dear,
And shed not one tear that I can only peer
Into my past – to cast but a quick glance –
And it does not last . . .
Oh, yes, there’re fond memories, I’m sure
But they do not serve to cure my dejection
And so my rejection of too much reflection
Comes with ease with ne’er ghostly figure
To tease, and no shade to rise up to please,
Nothing to freeze my soul in bygone years;
And tell me, what could be more charming,
If not alarming, for an avid pupil of history?
Ah! an invigorating story I love, so savory!
But really there’s not one bone of interest
To pick from my own,
Sown in the mundane . . .
So yesteryear is not dear but rather drear;
But, then, I hear it is medicine for the soul
To reflect, to recollect, and so it might be,
So, you see, I do reminisce in quietness;
No, I do not hate the past, so I meditate,
Yet this does not last very long;
After all, I belong here and now . . .
Yesteryear may be as near as one thought,
But reliving those days cannot be bought
With the world’s gold, not even one’s soul,
And why try? To want to live in yesteryear
Comes from fear of bowing here and now,
Turning ‘golden days’ into towers of power
Under which one cowers . . .
And this came to mind as I was pondering
Yesteryear
From the Vaults of the Past, Live Today
Flowered wreaths are laid on graves and flags are waved,
Precious photos are saved and placed in handsome albums,
As should be for you and me and all who are near and dear;
Old movies are played, prayers prayed, as memories fade,
And old books are read while nostalgic looks are shared
From the bed of the past to make something glorious last
For as long as possible… Ah! But is it not quite impossible
To resurrect what has gone, and do we not really suspect
That it is the present with which we dissent and the future
We rather resent as we recall only the pleasant of the past,
Of days gone by, focusing on the highs, ignoring the lows
Else they blow away our feelings in kneeling at the altar
Of history and the stories we have conjured in our minds
That bind our hearts to an idealism that ne’er existed?
Oh yes, to honor the dead is a golden banner of humanity,
As this helps us keep our sanity and guard against vanity;
But there is the danger that in fear and anger we simply
Desire to live and expire in the past rather than live
And fight now for what will last!
Yes, always remember the past…
No, do not dismember the present
In the Temple of Tomorrow
All the world’s aflame, and everyone to blame,
In the Temple of Tomorrow;
And you borrow such insane pain on the Plain of Today,
Where the Slough of Yesterday is left behind
And in like kind, Tomorrow never does come,
But some offer sacrifice of praise in mental haze
And spiritual daze … in the Temple of Tomorrow.
Yes, there are those, too, who are bogged down
In the Slough of Yesterday, who blew away any future
Of hope long ago, so their song is another dirge,
And ever an urge to relive the past; their hearts
Never surge in the beauty of Today, yet may one day;
Who knows? Ah! But others await the kingdom come
Some day … In the Temple of Tomorrow.
Here there is no rest as the best of spirit is given
To liven what has not yet been born; torn from Today
To take hold of hope to make something, anything …
Tomorrow, tomorrow; and they borrow from the future
To nurture passing pleasures and transient treasures
For Today with no real content; they are so hell-bent
To worship in the Temple of Tomorrow.
Arise! Meet the present and greet this Day today!
Gone are all your yesterdays and tomorrow never comes;
In this moment find your atonement and enjoyment;
Bow no longer and cower not … in the Temple of Tomorrow!
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