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.