I've been busy this past week, which explains why I've missed a few blog posts. I've been working on several different short stories, Mystic Selwood, and a guest column for Page Readers. I'll have to write something more comprehensive to keep you all in the loop. For now, enjoy this little piece of insightful poetry...
You forget more than you remember,
trying so hard to find the right
things to say.
What a glorious day.
And you never know when
this age of absent minds
will be at an end again.
You say we've got to make it.
You say there is no other way.
We've got to be strong,
go along with the flow,
and never forget where we're at.
But there must be something
wrong in translation.
All I hear when I
listen for your voice
is constant consternation,
failure to connect,
defeatism in the face of the facts.
Where can we go, when nobody's home
in that place we can't go back to again?
What do you do
when the facts don't connect with your
version of the truth?
Do you start fresh from scratch,
or simply revise reality?
Lost in translation;
a matter of mind.
What is your perception
of linear time?
Can we go back again
to rewrite our mistakes,
or simply say they weren't wrong
despite the obvious?
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