Ones Journey

Time does not refrain or stop

To stand still or bleak within your thoughts

Forever cycling intermittently 

Time cannot be escaped it is a journey

Mostly obscure it is always there

In between lines of parallels 

Ones journey cannot be fully made

Unless we learn to be still with time


Sentimentality for the sentiments

Of time of love of demise within us

Precocious levels of fortitude or not

What lies beneath the gifts of dust

To hold on to, to pass down, 

A memory of connected energy

You choose to keep it or get rid of

One of those gifts is not always a sentimental jest 

What is sentimental to one may not be for another

Something to hold whether value or not

Be it meaningful with history or heart

When you leave this earth 

There is only one ongoing sentimental gift