(Image courtesy of Kev from Pixabay)
Three o’clock, as I’m now wide awake,
my mind comes rustling like an old, dried snake;
coming to shed its skin of past regrets,
the ones I wish I could only forget.
Non regret: we may gratuitously say,
but how can we escape our memory?
To live is to be – catching us easily;
like an insect in amber – perfectly!
Stuck in thinking, only wanting to sleep,
Until sleep then takes me in again deep,
where a dream house arises within me;
opening its door, I entered a city;
That abiding city that’s inside myself,
where a child’s voice is now calling to me;
a voice from childhood needing attention.
for all the lost days, weeks, and years,
That all too soon have disappeared,
now lost in the sieve of my memory,
and being impermanent they cannot stay,
as all things must now pass away;
While I dream upon the net of time,
make assignments in the night,
until recalled by dawns early chime,
and awakened to another day.
And it is only in days that we live;
the days, the weeks, and years,
that all too soon shall disappear,
Leaving us as always – just here.
© D G Moody 2022