Yesterday’s but a drop
In the ocean of the past.
Its sorrows, joys, triumphs, defeat
Highs, lows all crushed to a uniform
“Consistency” In the crucible of experience.
And so every so often
With the frequency and urgency
Of reaching yearningly for a cookie jar
We reach out to the repository of experience
To live through once again
The moments that inspired either awe or consternation.
Each waking moment, we replenish the contents
Of this cookie jar so it never runs out
Thus partaking of its essence into the unforeseeable future.
The now’s fodder that feeds into the udder of experience,and oh,how we like to milk it dry.