The Traveller

Today I feel the weight of memory -

It has become my enemy.

Today is tomorrow's twenty-twenty hindsight.

An illusion, another blindside.

I ponder the purpose of the minutes

Spent building purpose;

Of tilling the soil, nurturing hope;

Of drilling for oil, that slippery slope!

Father, mother, sister, brother -

Millennia.

Birth into something with worth?

Less is more.

More is less than we hope for.

What I perceive becomes

What I believe -

A creation I have to leave

One day,

When all is said and done.

When time slips the serendipitous,

To trick me into stopping my heart,

Into believing my own part

Is less than it was.

Death comes before ...

Courage comes after ...

Love whispers on gentle wing

Existence is a tenuous, trembling thing.

Ah, yes.

But wait, there's more!

[This poem came about as a result of my attempt to be in the moment, on this day, at this time.

I feel better for having tried it.]