in our dreams we smooth and polish the rocks of remembrance into pearls,
which, by the light of day, we demolish because reality faces the mind that swirls.
Pressure will be a memory to her. No matter how much she tries, she will not be able to summon up the ghosts of it. It will be gone from her like fading flowers and nothing will breath life in to its lungs again. This existence of it, the desire to produce and work under it and all its motivations, drive; helps move work now not later.
The pressure stops. But time never does. Everyday has its own promise of being great but one has to be open to the possibility of it being so.
Why can’t young people slow down?
Why can’t we be patient?
Why are we in a rush for tomorrow even if we think we are living for now?
Our times are technology enhanced, we have shoes with laces that tire themselves. We stay in doors and communicate with thousands everyday, no for need human connection. We date, have sex, eat and hang online. We are the dot com generation.
When I am told to slow down this what happens, the voices in my head because so loud. Evidence is above.
There is a point in there but if you missed it here is a small poem.
When evening comes we are the same,
caged and un-caged we lose our game
and equal with the human race
we leave this place with out a trace
These socks are mine!
I have red ones…