To your future self

Dear sweet me,

I told you you would make it.

Love,
Yourself

Reminders from the past

when
somebody looks you
up and down
and asks you
all fake innocence
and sugary-sweet told-ja-so
whether all the bacon
was worth your health now:

remember the sizzle.
remember the crackle,
the greasy wonder.

remember thick crusty
italian bread hunks torn off
and filled with
crisp green lettuce
cutting the grease with freshness
and juicy tomatoes
lending their sweet acidic bite
and when we felt rich
toasting that wonderful bread
with a layer of gooey cheese
to keep it all moist and warm

and of course
all that steaming
crispy, salty
bacon.

remember it all
so when you respond
your eyes will be
daydreamyfaced
fogged up from the inside
by the memory
of that steaming hot bacon
and you can tell them
with not a hint of remorse
that there should be
no talk of regrets
that you found nirvana then
and are only waiting now
to die and find it again.

Dear Me,

Someone once said
That there is only one direction: Forward
And like a herd of mindless sheep
Everyone believed it
They glued their eyes to the horizon
And walked straight ahead
But I want to remind you of a secret
One I pray you haven’t forgotten:
To truly move forward
You need to walk backwards
Staring into the darkness
Won’t make you see any more
Than if you had just closed your eyes
By turning your back
And walking in the same direction
As the rest of the crowd
You’ll be as blind to the future
As they are
But you, my darling,
You will see more because you
Will see everywhere you’ve been
Every mountain you’ve climbed
Every root you’ve tripped over
But most importantly
You’ll see where you’re standing now
While they all look far ahead
You will see the present
Knowing it doesn’t matter
Just how far you go
But how far you’ve come
I hope you treasure this secret
Because it will help you get
Where we all want to go:
Forward

Love always,

You

Future's Fodder
Damn the days of future's fodder
The riven plans of today and yester'
Know comes too late to bother
Too late for the bloody-handed jester

What good comes from a good tomorrow
When the next day's good is out on borrow?
From broken high, a stolen middle;
A grin belies the patch worked sorrow.

If only, if only, if this or that
If only: the cry of the guilty brat
The truth will shine through darkest times
The truth's been told and wove of crimes

Many children will wake
And pluck flowers with light in their heart
And so kill the bloom.

-DyMc