Works in progress

[pjthompson]

Remembrance

Every new thing she see reminds her of the past,
or loved ones long gone, she the last of her line:
the way things used to be, how we did things then,
the funny thing her brother did, the tricks they played.

How much has changed.

A different world, consumed by history, lost
except in a few pale memories locked in spirits
headed away from Now and into the past tense.
The days wind down, grow fewer—whether
short or long we cannot say—
but not miles, not miles left to travel.

I listen for as long as I can,
stories told again and again,
trying to bear witness,
trying to let her know
someone still cares.

I try, but memories don’t get the laundry done,
the dishes put away, the dinner cooked.
The Now is relentless, unsentimental, unforgiving.

Someday you will regret not having these conversations.

Yes. Someday, someday, someday.

But for Now
I have many duties in my way
and steps or miles before that day.
Steps or miles before that day.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

Comments

[darkspires.livejournal.com]

Love it!

[pjthompson.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[safewrite.livejournal.com]

Where's the "Like"" button? *grin*

[pjthompson.livejournal.com]

lol--and thanks.

[mount-oregano.livejournal.com]

Deep and lovely.

[pjthompson.livejournal.com]

Thank you. On rare occasions, I can sometimes say exactly what I mean. :-)

[geniusofevil.livejournal.com]

I don't know how you manage to say things so truthfully, yet with such passion.

I know exactly what this poem means and feels.

[pjthompson.livejournal.com]

Thank you. Time and practice, I guess? I dunno either. But I'm glad it worked for you.