Wednesday, April 17, 2024

Sometimes the Past Feels Like a Dream...

Psalm 116:13
I will lift up the cup of salvation
and call on the name of the Lord.
(read the whole glorious chapter HERE)

The pink-bud blaze
before first-leaf green haze...

Sometimes the past feels like a dream or scenes an artist drew
Its measure of moments like mist of seasons spilled and spent
Like Aprils, marbled into blurs of green, gold, gray and blue
Or like a book we read but could not keep, a volume lent

The joys of life teach us to sing, its griefs teach us to pray
To lift salvation’s cup and call upon the name of God
The older that I get the more I attend to Today
Before its dust settles in Past’s impenetrable sod

Sometimes the panoramas of What Once Was steals my breath
Like fragments of a melody, I have not heard in years
Rekindling awed awareness of time’s daily birth and death
Of eulogies composed of words and deeds, laughter and tears

Sometimes the past feels like a dream of flowers smelled and felled
Or snowflakes hardly held before they melt into thin air
Today is like a ballad borne on notes that play then meld
To mosaics of sound and sight that slipped from here to there

© Janet Martin

Sometimes the past feels like a dream of flowers smelled and felled...

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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!