Forward

What is life but moving forward?

Even if we don’t know what we’re moving toward?

What is the dirt beneath our feet,

But the remnants of challenges our ancestors had to meet?

The dust of old souls long since gone,

who fought and sang to us a heartfelt song.

Who told us the future would hold something new.

They planted the seed: it flourished. It grew.

All things keep moving, there is no inertia,

“The old days had the best ways” is the craziest thing I’ve heard of.

We keep on writing this book, page after page,

we record what is the now because we know that this age

will be just that: an age, a past, a difference.

And tomorrow will be full of curiosity, but have patience,

child, who still feels lost.

Your path has been many times crossed

and you touched each soul in your little way

and through that little piece you touch twice more every day.

and change keeps occurring because you planted a seed

Through a small gesture or grand, through some deed

and you will become the dust that glitters in the sun

and you will always be remembered for the song you have sung.

Remember, all, that the book is written at the same pace it is read,

and the world will keep turning after we are dead.

But for our breath that mingled with the air,

we have somehow, somewhen, made someone’s life more fair.

Somewhere twixt the was, the now, whatever will be.

my ancestors have made the blocks for me,

and someday I will be a block, too,

For my children, their children, and the descendants of you,

and will have beat my butterfly-wings to turn this age’s page.

What is Time if not change?