Way Through

Way Through

The moment returns again and again,
and again we miss it and chatter on,
Keeper of the World is NOT forsaken,

as she ached for the sake of us young, we live as
we go on and on, moment to moment, young
at heart as we think we know it all.

For all we know is what no one knows,
and rain comes along with dust, clouds
speaking through foggy mornings, hell

long gone from this place of wonder.
So too, we in seed begin
and the Gardener's hand, even in

life everlasting, as they call it,
we journey in our journals, tripping
along. Trips are all we have left,

for our children have left us for their
own lives. And instead of living
we for a while pause, wishing that

time would back up, and when
time marches on, we bitch and
moan and groan and ache and grunt

as we lift ourselves out of the recliner
only to realize we're old now. Old
and gray. Dead to our dreams.