We Are

 

 

We are the gatherers, the collector of things

The young boy with a pocket full of dreams

Alongside the dried worm and yesterdays gum

The girl on her bed, amongst the dolls and stuffed friends

Each and every one, a memory in front of a story.

 

Our story, written in time, page by page

Scene by scene, chapter by chapter, we write

The ink, indelible, marking the past, our past

Red strokes noting errors without correction

Others may edit what we can never revise.

 

We are the authors, the writer of things

The young boy with his tall tales of high adventure

Glory days to warm his darkest nights

The young girl, her heart upon a diary page

Dreams of the future, hoping against all hope.

 

Stoic.

 

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Just In Time

 

 

Stolen from my future,

my now becoming shorter

the past far too long

 

value in the moment

lessening with each tick

time share? Time thief!

 

given freely

mine to give, always it was mine

I do not owe it to you!

 

taken and not given

so much is lost

a moments possibilities

 

endless, never known

potential unrealized

just a second.

 

Stoic