7/10/11

There is a house of loveliness and happy memories.

Some speak of ghosts who roam it but I tend to disagree,

For anyone who's stayed there will have surely come to learn,

'Tis us who shall be haunted 'till the day we may return.

7/9/11

While looking through displayed antiques,
Assembled and put up for sale,
Each item I encounter speaks,
Describes its life, and tells the tale,
Of who adored it in years past,
And, for their time, did have and hold.   
Someday, I'll too be known at last,
By my possessions tagged and sold.  

7/8/11

How often times I might confess,
For matters in which I'm employed
I secretly could not care less,
If plans succeed or are destroyed.
Despite how haggard I am made,
By crossing t's and dotting i's,  
This role is just a part i play,
In theaters to which I'm obliged.

7/7/11

The clocks keep stopping on my shelves,
Despite my fawning diligence,
To keep them wound and running well,
In clean, unhindered temperance.
And yet their ticking slows and wanes.
I find them stalled, the hours missed.
Is lack of balance to be blamed,
Perhaps some need of  maintenance?
Or else is this some subtle sign,
The frozen moments show to me,
A caution not to press my time,
But venture forward patiently.
Far better to have moments lost,
Than count each one obsessively,
Lest seconds measure bitter cost,
Of hours which have known no peace.