The world is full of good memories.
If you just find the one to share with,
Your life’s a functional myth.
And if today’s made of woes or tragedies,
Oh, you just stand by, it blooms in history.
The kind which you remember with heart and dignity.
It may of course not happen in your prime,
Even take thirty years to ring a fonder chime.
Only that’s what you learn anyway :
Sweet memories and good times,
Won’t cover the same day.
The world is full of past unbeaten works,
Of the best ever done job
That could possibly emerge,
And even drawn from yesterday,
Had never gone this relevant.
So if you don’t like these years,
Find another time to get along with,
At least for an hour,
Stop paying attention to all these buzzes going on,
When there’s nothing outthere you aspire to belong.
It may not raise any high hope,
But only if you mistake the praising
Of our finest achievements,
For a stiff rejection of tomorrow’s feats.
When at the end,
What faith or projection might we throw in the future,
Without the remembrance of a nearly perfect day,
An almost ideal song, novel, movie, poem…
Of a near final thought, vision, discovery…
An almost perfect love,
An almost pure living… ?
And the world is full of those memories,
Of our shining pictures in the gallery.
You remember wars, plagues, atrocities,
But they’re only one side of the story.
As the other is filled with reminders
Of whatever great scene early mattered.
Hence if it should be the last reason
That would bring your soul horizon,
If the future seems life prison,
As your days unfold like treason,
Dare refuse the part in your present,
Out of you the past is renascent.