Another Bend In the River

Life is a short thing
we can make seem longer
just by thinking about it.
A night can be long thing
we can make seem shorter
by not thinking at all,
simply closing our eyes
and allowing sleep to snip
short the string we follow
from today to tomorrow.
Time is a river, so they say,
a constantly moving stream
of here to there in its own
temporal course. It has its
gently flowing stretches where
joys float within arms length,
as well as it rippling runs,
swirling eddies of stasis
and buffeting rapids where
Time can speed you along
as easily as it will beat you
fearsome sore for the toll.
I’m speeding by one of the final
waypoints on my journey.
Only now I spend my time
sorting through the remaining
recollections of this trip,
though not as much as I ponder
the flotsam of memories
I’ve lost to the relentlessly
restless nights.
I see only a life unspent
playing out in the spaces
where missing experiences
once were laden, albums
and journals lost, floating me
lighter and higher,speeding me
along to some great sea where
I’ll become another drop,
a vague dream, drifting eternal
in a night never-ending.

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