Sometimes the Past Feels Like a Dream...

Psalm 116:13I will lift up the cup of salvationand call on the name of the Lord.(read the whole glorious chapter ) The pink-bud blazebefore first-leaf green haze... Sometimes the past feels like a dream or scenes an artist drewIts measure of moments like mist of seasons spilled and spentLike Aprils, marbled into blurs of green, gold, gray and blueOr like a book we read but could not keep, a volume lent The joys of life teach us to sing, its griefs teach us to prayTo lift salvation’s cup and call upon the name of GodThe older that I get the more I attend to TodayBefore its dust settles in Past’s impenetrable sod Sometimes the panoramas of What Once Was steals my breathLike fragments of a melody, I have not heard in yearsRekindling awed awareness of time’s daily birth and deathOf eulogies composed of words and deeds, laughter and tears Sometimes the past feels like a dream of flowers smelled and felledOr snowflakes hardly held before they melt into thin airToday is like a ballad borne on notes that play then meldTo mosaics of sound and sight that slipped from here to there © Janet Martin Sometimes the past feels like a dream of flowers smelled and felled...