The morning sun begins the run
Of what will soon be left behind
As moments drip to fingertips
Strumming the harp-strings of the mind
The burden of discouragement
Melds with the gentle buoying
Of moments as the Is-to-Was
Does not idle on blue mooring
…but draws the eye to my,
oh, my
How soon today is
yesterday
Its moments sealed upon thought’s reel
In surreal blips of gold and gray
Time does not take a break, but wakes
Us to the tug-of-warring grind
Where moments flow in hold-let-go
To pen the music of the mind
© Janet Martin
Sometimes, as the music of the mind revives an 'oldie'
it feels surreal, as if it never was...
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!