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Remembrance Staring longingly out an open window, or may at the tv screen, perhaps your computer. But anyway you feel lost in what has been, no longer searching for what is to come, only stagnant in the past. Yesterday, well yesterday had someone different, someone who was once with me, but not anymore, now they are gone. Wishing for that day again. To be in the present seems to be such a chore, who is she, what has she become. Why is she still searching for the past when it wasn’t well. Always searching for escapism. She is trapped in remembering these times, for worse, definitely not for better.

Helping Hands Things taught but lost, treat others as you want to be treated. Yet as each year passes this simple saying loses strength, once something instilled in youth is just something passes onto the young but not held by the old. Maybe if these words are held, kept, and practiced. Maybe just maybe if we extend a hand instead of keeping away, holding close instead of puling back, then maybe we would join as one and live in an optimistic future.

Yet, with the cadence of passing years, this once profound principle weakens—now a fleeting whisper, eluding the grasp of the aged.

Lost are the lessons, ephemeral echoes of wisdom: "Treat others as you wish to be treated.” Yet, as each year passes this principle weakens—now to a fleeting whisper instilled in youth, eluding the grasp of the aged. Perhaps, if these words are cradled, treasured, and earnestly pursed. If hands are extended rather than withdrawn. If we embrace instead of retreating, then, just maybe, we could join as one. Weaving the tapestry of an optimistic future.

Space Rodeo Clown Was she really a clown or is she just in love with the idea. Or the truth and reality. Rose colored glasses? Only the future knows.

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