Surreal Appeal

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...