The needle-clock that pokes holes in the mind,
Whereby a pan of half-remembered past
Is sieved, and thus from memory confined,
Faileth against some fragments sticking fast.
The gripsack-brain is packed with brittle tinder,
For memories once lit do warm the soul.
Whenas old age shall dwindle blaze to cinder,
Though 'twill be hard to recollect them whole,
Being too truncated by the racing sword
Of time, so that they might even feel untrue,
We nonetheless will remain meet to ford
The dreamy stream of earlier days anew.
Though many memories will leave our sight,
Yet in the rearguard some won't take their flight.
He took his Mom shopping, so she could walk with a cart
She had cognitive decline, and failure of the heart.
He took her in a wheelchair on the river asphalt path
He took over the taxes, because she couldn't do the math.
He drove her to the doctors, cancer, cardiac and more
He cleaned up the dishes, he vacuumed the kitchen floor
He took out the trash, managed all the bills
No time for things he liked to do, like cycling up the hills.
No time to read new science, he felt sorry for himself
Always in a rearguard action against declining health
But he thinks of the many years, from the age of two
When she did all this and wrote books, an ethic to be true.
But there's a twist, though others see him as faithful son
He attracted bad guys attention and then hope was none.
Trouble found Mom's doorstep, in some ways he's to blame
A criminal attractor, Mom paid for his past stain.
Your unique identity, a priceless gem,
Will shine with brilliance, shall never dim.
For God, in His goodness, shall be by your side,
Instructing you with His mercy being your guide.
Divine destiny, wrapped within your soul,
No evil eye can alter, no darkness can control.
For angels are released, to guide and protect,
God, your rearguard, His love will not neglect.
His presence goes ahead, like a beacon of light,
Illuminating your path, banishing the night.
His mercy and goodness, companions on your quest,
Faithfully heavy lifting, as you give your very best.
Within you lies fountains of creativity, waiting to bloom,
God's Word, the secret in you, dispels the gloom.
With divine interruptions, He reshapes your way,
Unleashing creativity, day after day.
Elohim, the Creator God, infusing your core,
With His divine presence, you will explore.
Responding to His light, embracing the healing glow,
Seeing your path clearly where miracles flow.
Corporate men in blazers portrayed by boys
empty hands but constantly in a boast
life in real goes opposite in each choice
a desert’s wretch, flaunts so big on the coast
acts so different, a real life disguise
stories with second chapters right from birth
even in death, the grave won’t play the dice
as this life is made and covered in dirt
cheat and deceit are character parents
more falsehood to overcome more sorrow
such victories stay as a short term rent
in the end, consequences will burrow
empty stones stick to form a rearguard
then becomes corrupted in this regard.
It’s been a few days, but snow still lingers,
fighting rearguard engagements with time,
hiding in shadowed walks, covered alcoves,
holding out against inevitable disappearance;
only a memory of white-covered ground,
joy to some, yet a danger to many others,
brought city to standstill, except those slipping
down icy paths and roads, flopping like fish
waiting for shoppers in a port market.
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