Grip of the Grape – a poem

Wine-stained memories, shards of which –long since extinct;

Money, time and memory’s folly,

Splintered picture can never be restored,

Crumpled dreams – broken glass and rubble;

Life repaired but what is lost remains lost.

Glance into the future – an unwritten history of what might be,

The hourglass continues to run its course,

What is unseen, unknown, remains lost to us

Unless we make it so: Create and Live!

Or sit and sup and wait to die.

Expectations of prior generations already drowned,

Fewer possibilities survive, – like seeds

The chance of life if only one would take and plant them

And take the time to let them grow,

Before winter comes and we are lost,

Our lives reduced to endless snow.

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