Some Little Thoughts

To live in past reveries is to wander
Alone in that dark forest,
Roaming in an enduring death where
Only the bones of the transmigrated
May be found in that far-off land. 

Man finds no succor for the future,
When musing, aimlessly in that forest;
It is but a mental orgasm:
For man learns, only, slowly,
But he forgets, only, too soon.  

To dally in the forest of the dead,
Blessed though the bones may be,
Revered by Holy men or orated,
Passed down from father to son, sung or stated:
Beware! Time has fled! 

History is merely a conduit,
From this year to yesteryear;
It is alive only to he,
Who would, in idle hours,
View those bones, decomposing in the sod.

Lessons of days of yore,
Mostly, buried in that land, long past,
Survivors, too oft, go untaught.
That land’s soil, stained in fetid blood,
Its stench, indelible … Nauseating! 

With disgust, some may implore,
Then recoil, as with the frightened snake,
On learning of the annals
Embedded in that forest floor.
Closed, forever, is memories’ door! 

Listen not to the Sirens,
Beckoning you to stay,
Tighten that girth:
Resist half bird-half woman temptations,
For they seek only your death. 

To listen too long
To pleading, plaintive sounds,
Echoing in the forests of time,
Is to covet those words’ song.
Then, too late: You are gone!