Through the worn pages of a simple Past
My slow and labored steps wander
With memorable moments no longer
Relevant or necessary to invoke,
Always to return to Now, this moment,
Passing as I breathe and wonder…
What was it all about, these cluttered,
Fanciful swipes of frivolity and time?
What Muse am I to discern follies and loves?
The mere poetic nothingness in the more
Noble distribution in years of memory?
Still, the mind continues its laborious stroll
Down through the trough of Time
Beckon me onward down these dusty paths
To the utter halls, I fear, of Madness.
BR Chitwood – September 12, 2019
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