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betterdays Dec 2014
sitting at the old oak table
sipping on cold redemption
thinking back to when i was
not some one else, but far less than myself...

turning memories over to
discover the fossiled  id
and the ambered ego"
damaged, dismembered,
by the time of slow, low moving sadness...
that created glacial time..


now, exploring
the barren forest,
like an inquisitive tourist
hoping to find the keys
to the locks that i left behind
whyfor i will never know...

but the former self has hidden the  relics all too well....
(and we bless them to
their  hidden eternity)

and the cages remain sound
the lack of treasure, remains
unfound.

...and i .....and i....and i
can retrace my steps...back
to the days ....of serenity...
and forsake the turbulance
for  the  promise of sunnier days......

sitting at the old oak table
sipping on redemption
...warm and refined....
turning....beauty over
to see....your love reflected
...
Alan S Jeeves Aug 2020
Who am I?  I wonder oft
And hope that I may see,
Who it is that is me,
And ask my maker up aloft
Who, indeed, I be?

Whyfor I'm here I ask aloud
And yearn for his reply,
And search for reason why,
From he beyond the cloud
Who, indeed, be I?

What use am I ?  I cannot know
If I am never told
What place that I should hold,
The direction I should go,
Until, indeed, I'm old.

When do I die?  I ask again
When will my day be through?
If, now, I only knew,
I query this in vain
I do: indeed, I do.

No answer do I, yet, receive,
For he replying not,
No reason for my lot
Then, am I when I take my leave,
The soul that God forgot?

ASJ

— The End —