Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

I wonder how I won the day. I know nothing, knew nothing, will always know nothing. I wonder how I got there. Got here. Got anywhere. I listen to now, the only one still alive, of us all. Yesterday I sat there, with you all, all ten. I wonder where you've gone, wonder if life has a past, think of taking these words off the page. I see light in grey clouds, shadows in the sunbeams, blinding me, the silence of frost and snow, binding me to this mourning bed.

Now I sit on the morning bed,  around me the silence of winter,  grayness where later I’ll see light.   I think of putting words on this page,  wonder if words have a past,  wonder where they’ll go. Yesterday, I sat here too,  the only one here.   I looked at “now”  and didn’t wonder how it got here.  I knew.  Today, I wonder how I knew.

Tomorrow is the future's past the past was tomorrow once we can't remember the future so why does it matter if we increasingly forget the past. the past is as important as the meals we ate twenty years ago. the future is as important as a cup of tea we'll never sip. now is the precious gem the prize we keep not noticing the prize we don't use the prize we don't enjoy

We drown in the past,  all those regrets and sorrows  and smiles and happy days  and sad ones too.   And then we don’t.   One morning we wake  and can’t remember the name  of the first cat we owned,  the first girl or boy we loved,  the way they looked at us  when we were just trying  to be funny and weren’t.   We scratch our heads then  and can’t remember what else  we’ve forgotten.  

You can get drowned in the past there's so much in it so much that flows over you getting into your lungs you can suffocate in the vastness of the past

Yesterday?   The day before? The day before that? And how much  is still here? My memory of a tree standing full of spring  before I even know it's here? Your memory  of your mom brushing her hair with a blue brush she's owned since she was 6. More? How much more? And what will we Do with it?   Put it in a box? Share it with our children? Stand on the road in front of our house And sing it to the trees?  They won’t listen.