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...