Moments in limited infinity,
Oh how they pass,
A moment, gone,
Nothing left that can be said.
A moment and then goodbye.
Sorrow only left,
A past imperfect, but needed all the same.
But, oh why all the mistakes made.
A sad fact,
Regret there and not.
Growth gained, but the pieces lost.
A battle in the mind,
Trying to escape pain.
To replace it with rage,
But, that I can never do.
As I ponder, sadness grips me,
But not totally.
A glimmer of hope,
But the mind is left again.
To battle the war within itself,
Nothing’s ever fully said.
No one truly understands,
A reality of humanity.
The mind is its own true entity,
Limited to that, just the same.
There is always more to say,
Always more that could have been done,
Always more sorries to be said and meant.
But then it all passes.
A regret, a notch, a memory.
Its all left.
No matter what,
This life, it’s all you have and over.
I live, try and be.
A promise, with care and compassion, even as it breaks me.
Knowing to bring care, is the only act worth it all.
To be, to live, to care.
To try and give it all,
In my failings I will fail and fail again,
But nevertheless trying.
Remembering those past moments fondly,
In all the troubles,
A smile in the present, looking back on the past.
I can’t help but chuckle,
And on I will remember,
As I know I can never forget.
As they may fade into nothingness,
I shall keep them.
For the moments sometimes fade,
Therein their beauty shines,
A limited moment,
A time of troubles and triumphs,
The good and bad,
All that there can be.
But for this I remember.
A time, before moments pass.
Trying to write. I used to keep thoughts raging and bottled in my head. Before this blog. Now I have no mind left to be eaten by the raging thoughts I kept bottled so long, stored. Over the many years I had been. Now I cannot. I am just unable to.
All I can do is write, to explain, live and rid these thoughts, a timeline of life, life lived, life hurt, and life made.
This poem, difficult. I don’t like this one, but kind of do at the same time. The thing I don’t like is also what I do.
Trying to write, started many sentences, ones I did not know what to say. Or jumped to another thought. Stopped deleting the half starts to sentences after a while, to just leave them. Be.
And then the bit after doesn’teven fit this one, I have no idea. Problem with the mind, so many things, with four pairs of hands I could still not capture I guess.
But I love the last 6 stanzas, redeeming the poem in my eyes. May take them for another poem, a better one. But here they have meaning, in the lack, a looking, trying, thinking.