Sail away with me, my darling, to distant lands
leave the past behind us while we still can
Dare it to catch us, ever onward sail
this small vessel ~ our everlasting jail
History is rewritten every day
The past reinterpreted in the present’s way
a bow of twine gathers
sepia envelopes and old letters~
the past folded small
At a history museum,
Main Street, Milford, in Pa.,
Is a giant flag with blood,
That may be Lincoln’s, on display.
Aside from that, ephemera
And lots of local lore
Wait for patrons who are visiting
To take time to explore.
I marveled at the hand-sewn quilts,
Their stitches small and neat,
And the menus from hotels, where lunch
Was forty cents to eat.
A woven cradle, clothes and hats,
Old irons, plus the boards,
And uniforms from soldiers
Were just some of the rewards
For visiting a building
Which preserves life in the past.
Who knows how long collections,
Like this treasure trove, may last?
I must admit, though, that what I
Liked best that I did see
Was the dog of the director,
Just as friendly as could be.
Anyone who thought that
The past was great for them
And wants to live in it fine
Go for it, stay in it
But the time for others is
Moving forward into the future
And it going to happen
If it is right now
In last is bread and butter
Before first was bread
Happy memories of the past:
Mothers rubbing dirt from your face in the school playground, playing a game of kiss chase
Wearing short trousers and cuts on your knees, scrumping apples from apple trees
Playing down the playground, saying hello to a stranger living as a child, we did not see danger
Hide-and-seek play-fighting with your best friend. You did not want to grow up and you did not want your childhood to end
The wind in your face when out riding your bike, walking for miles, just for a hike
But you must grow up and the childhood fun had to end, but you will never forget your childhood and playing with your best friend
The stones on the patio are weathered
and ground, and the door that creeks
welcomes. The ceiling was measured
for other times, other heights,
and the floor is used to heedful steps.
Old tables and chairs disarm fashion,
have a style of their own:
haute couture of past culture,
their vogue is vintage.
I can live with the broken vase
which was worth repairing.
It knows the meaning of longevity
and in it the cut chrysanthemum
refuses to fade.
Those pans were new once,
they knew once the taste of mint,
but since have aged and mellowed.
Noblest of all are those objects in wood
whose handles have felt
the favour of oft-use.
Their polish reflects the palm.
I favour the works of the past,
the time-worn customs and lore of folk
whose venerable hearts
know the meaning of bosom.
I am a collector of dents in copper,
of meaningful scratches in tin;
grooves, furrows and notches
that count the years;
and faint wounds
that objects keep hidden within.
The past is just that
The past, and whomever chooses
To live in it, that's their problem
And it's their choice but time has and
Always will move forward into
The future and it will continue
With or without you
Can it be done by anyone,
I know we can travel forward in time,
We are living, proof that will not change over time,
Alive in a past time,
Alive in this points in time.
There is also no room to doubt in this time,
That we can physically touch, see, and occasionally smell
items in this time,
That existed in a past time.
While I never like to say never,
Not knowing the meaning of the word forever,
I predict time travel back to the past,
Would not be a blast,
Yet would create a paradox,
Obvious even to anyone with a brain equal
to that of an ox.
We do however have the ability in this time,
To view records of a past time,
And unearth secrets from further back in time,
But we cannot in this time effect change on even
a single blade of grass,
Not even its mass,
But we can use it to change the future,
And decide whether to nurture,
Or torture,
Something to think about in this time,
Before we run out of time.
We have lived the past,
and built-up our brick towers...
high enough at last!
I want this message from the past
When things like you're hearing now are illegal
When it's totally clear what you face
I want you to know if you don't resist
It will get worse
It's not going to get better
You will realize that you're the leaders
You will realize that it's up to you to act
This is my message to the future.
You don't have a choice
The attacks they launched against you
Herding you into the cities
Every few years a more horrific event
You have got to spread the word
Everyone will see the truth
You're in lock down prison cities
I'm speaking to the secret police of the future
Your families are dying from the bio weapons
You're dying from the engineered cancers
That information is restricted to you now
In our time we were able to access that information
Before it had been erased
"I know many of you in the future will be emotionless
Because of the vaccines
They attacked the areas of your brain
Associated with endorphin absorption"
Many of you have been lobotomized
I'm sorry that we didn't fight hard enough
I'm sorry that we didn't do everything we could
I want you to know we tried...
It felt good to have you next to me again
for a moment I couldn’t help but think of the many ways
I would try to make you mine again
to share one more laugh with you
To embrace you like back then
Oh well, I guess there's just no way
I can undo the past
Not because I don't want to
But because I'd only hurt you once more.
relished photographs on the mantle buried in dust
Laying prone..Eyes pinpoints bright pink'
ya-kno pupils 'must look and'
cant ever blink.' Mind overcome now what
Has been done.? So laid the infants
Under callous ones, in deepest trauma then
Comes the flash!!! Snap of light press of
Desires..Media circles something to
snatch.' Witnesses speaking are the backround
Sound-track. noises's from ' pam bondi ' up-on the rack..'
Ruin of the nations.' Runs as innocent as the blood.' Some turn away..No wish to stem the flood, of filth thats waiting behind
'The watergate?' Above is its castle holding
Imprints of horrid fates..I recall many echoes from the past..Brothers Grim created stories of dark fantasy some wicked blasts
Returned to my consciousness.' Of trolls; ogres and kings witches druids sorcery and murder of children ( quite bad things.!) Happen to be old tales.? Contained some truth.?
Gets me thinking? And thats for-sooth..'
And andrew???
Well he's it seems now; gone away.! Sleeping in
Some cat a comb might we say.? He has the cold blue blood, shared with some others and a familiy
history..Quite gory.! just go ask his brothers.?
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