Dear Class of 2021, 

Here is a little poem for you. I hope you are well, 

and I hope you take what you have learned and 

treat your days with love, wisdom, and enchantment. 

Gossamer Gowns

Today 

I heard the leaves

that seemed 

to grieve with me. 

The past is gone--

it is no more.

And yet, 

this Moment 

is the Evermore.

Like a child 

I have prophesied 

New life 

on the Horizon. 

May I have the Courage 

to Meet it, 

To Greet it with a kiss

and a Smile 

Expectantly, 

Full of wonder, 

Not worry. 

Photo courtesy of Canva

Take the time to unwind my memories.

Listen to me deeply, to the stories within.

Like a child, lost in the world I have lost myself.

Question me back into existence.

Remind me who I once was.

Photo by A.A. Fouch

With wearied eyes and worn beliefs,

"Desire only comes to grief;

From seeking, there is no relief." 

I asked him all that he desired--

He showed me what he had acquired:

All the time that he had spent

On clothes and food

and friends and rent; 

On chasing after selfish dreams,

Desires born of ingrown schemes. 

I said, "You simply live too small--

Why, these weak wants won't do at all!

Better to have never lived 

Than live a life of wasted gifts. 

Your heart was made for grander things

Your weight too great for tiny wings." 

He simply sighed and shook his head, 

Drank his drink, and went to bed. 

image via wikipedia 

Fragile thought is like a bird--

Evading eyes but always heard. 

Wonderous elusive creature!

With intricate and el'gant feature!

Away he jumps straight into flight,

If ever he’s caught in my sight. 

Perched upon the window sill 

Attending to his wondrous trill, 

Too late I tune to hear his song

Heard so quick, then quickly gone. 

Seen from the corners of my eyes

His home the whole of all the skies. 

With soft a step, I draw so near...

He senses me and disappears.

My eyes flicker open

Sleepily. 

Warm, golden light

Casts a magical haze

Over my room. 

In this moment, 

There is no time. 

I can picture myself 

Many years in the future, 

In the place where everyone knows my name, 

and I am loved as dearly 

as the moon, 

For there, 

In the future, 

We all reflect the Son. 

I breathe slowly 

and peacefully. 

There is no rush to be anywhere,

or to do anything in particular. 

If I like, I will do something nice,  

Such as have a cup of tea

or bake fresh blueberry scones. 

All the work of the world is done, 

Except for the work which is pleasant to do. 

Surely, there are hard things 

I can set my heart on, 

But only because they are nice in the end. 

I sigh happily. 

On this Saturday morning, 

I have gone to the edge of Universe 

and peered over 

Into the Endless Hall of Delights. 

I am currently enjoying my last semester of college, and loving every helter-skelter minute of it. While listening to some poetry by Emily Dickinson in one of my morning classes, I was struck by the idea for this poem about memory. 

Writers are, I think, in many ways slaves to their memories. I have had a "memory hoarding" issue since I was quite young, and found solace in writing things down. When your memory is very good like mine, it's easy to go back in time and even want to stay there longer than you should. 

However, a good memory when used properly is a wonderful tool that lets you stand outside of time and space to help others see what they have forgotten about the world, or even themselves. This poem is both a sadness and a celebration of the gift of memory. 

Time does not go on for me

Forever I am crossed at sea. 

Forever tossed 

On still-same wave--

Forever here to start again. 

I look into that face of yours, 

And all I see are open doors, 

Open doors within your eyes

Forever walking into mine. 

Time makes strangers

Of loves and dangers. 

But not of me, 

It cannot be. 

Forever in my wintered mind, 

These thoughts preserved for all of time. 

I look around myself and say

"I can recall like yesterday..." 

Yet no one else remains here thus--

My memory stays, theirs fades to dust. 

So all their ships go sailing by, 

But on my boat, there is no time. 

Photo credit via - https://cverwaal.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/on-frozen-pond/