All of these old notes…
Drifting records
of the people
We were when
hope pulsed
And surged…
Remembrances of
life, before
life went on.
Now we,
Seasoned with time,
And people,
Some dreams
fulfilled,
some dashed…
The dire fears
of mature humanity
driving us
day by day.
Love,
now a tempered,
comfortable garment
where once
it was an
ethereal flame
upon which we threw
our young hearts.
Lessons learned…
or not.
We either see
the old fools
Our mothers
warned us about.
Or,
we become
just that.
There is,
after all
no fool,
like an old fool.
Thank God,
we have these old
notes to remind
us of the landmines
of life, avoided.
Write them still,
and keep your
future-self
whole.
