forgotten

Where Are We When Time Forgets Us?

Originally penned/published:  Sept 3, 2011

 

Where are we when time forgets us?

I am lost in words.

Flipping rhymes in time

Because time forgot.

Time forgets me

I find myself lost in it,

With no hours,

Minutes,

Days,

Second hands revisited

 

I am lost in words.

In pun

For fun

In my everyday language,

Conversations between you and me

move easily

as I glide with

the sides of nouns on my tongue

their tops are still young

but underbellies run deep in my soul

like the ancient collective conscious of lost cities

empires

also forgotten by time.

 

By people.

Misunderstood.

Not understood for lack of memory,

Of remembrance.

For lack of brain space

Or dedication

Or curiosity.

 

A curious cat,

Am i

In time.

 

And when time forgets?

Well I just let it

Be

In me,

Walk steadily,

Glide with my mind through time

Like it’s my master,

Giving no direction

But watching,

Looking for intentions,

 

So I glide

I rhyme

I write verses in time

Put it all on the page

No sage

Just wage

Not war

But want

For better

For your

And my

Time.

 

For these times

When time forgets

People.

 

I am lost in the page

For the people.

 

And for those who have yet to find their way to it

I am on stage.

 

And for those who have yet to find their way to it

I am at work.

 

And for those who have yet to find their way to it

I am at play.

 

Every day.

With words.

 

This love,

Its just words.

 

Love,

Is just a word.

I say often.

With meaning.

This love,

It’s easy,

Comes naturally,

So I just do it.

 

It’s what keeps me in time when time forgets me.

It picks me back up,

Thrusts me back onto the faces of the world,

The faces of angels

Masked by self preservation.

 

Pre serve.

What comes before serving?

The self.

 

Find me there.

I am waiting,

There is where I am lost in time.

And mine,

My self,

It’s on the page.

You can find it

In time.

Even when time forgets you,

Words remain.

On pages.

So write books,

Be sages,

Of yourself.

 

For in time,

You will be lost,

One day,

And in afternoons, evenings, at night when asleep,

You will lose yourself sometimes.

So write yourself on pages so you don’t forget.

So that if you do, you’re still there.

Guard those pages with your life.

They may be all you have left.

 

Commit them to memory.

That may be all you have left.

 

And then share them with others,

Because they may be all you have left.

All that’s left on this earth,

Of you.

Do You Worry About the Presence Time forgets?

Originally penned/published:  August 29, 2011

Do you worry about the presence time forgets?

Do you worry about it at all?

Do you worry about the fall?

Winter?

Spring?

The changing of seasons.

Do they change you?

Do you allow them to?

How do you negotiate the weather?

Weathered tides upon the threshold of day,

How do you negotiate your own destiny?

Your plans? For the future?

Do you free write? Writers?

Do you free-speak? Speakers?

Do you free live? Livers?

They must call it the ‘liver’ because it’s really important for you to live.

They must call it that because it’s important.

This life.

Essential, actually.

Can I touch it?

Your liver?

I don’t really want to, but would you let me if I did?

What do you let touch it?

What don’t you?

What do you live?

Where?

How?

When the threshold of day is upon you,

What do you do?

How do you guide? Follow?

Who do you let lead?

Or what?

How do you live?