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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| To all my ghosts No time to write a silly poem about war or peace, or chicken grease, something I know nothing about. Distracted by a piece of key lime pie, pieces of strawberries calling my name, potato chips and sundry things — life got in the way. No time for introspection or even a bath. Dead skin and ennui slough off in the shower. I didn't have time to write to you, to call out your name in vain, ghosts never answer the phone. I'm tired of being alone, tired of the echoes and ripples of the fading Past that will not let me go. Let me go! Where does the time go? I never kept track whilst I lived, and now I'll never know. So few find me hiding, fewer comment. I sent out photos of the sunset today, should send out Songkran blessings tomorrow. Postcards remain unsent. I sent a message to Wren — we're both getting old. I should feel blessed that I'm still getting older. Getting wiser is a ship that sailed without me — a long time ago. © Kåre Enga (12.april.2025) [182.21] 28 lines Original sketch in "Who knows where the time goes?"  |
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