Rummaging

Rummaging through old papers, photographs and things, one often picks up something that tugs at heart's old strings; A memory comes unbidden, to block all else from view, refusing to go quietly - the decent thing to do; and so, it pervades the soul until acknowledge it we must. We sit among those memories, amid the fluff of dust. We find a scrap of paper, illegible to some, but we remember what it was, and what it did become; We see the person who we were those days so long ago, thinking that we owned the world, not yet knowing it wasn't so. Though tears may prick as thoughts replay the theatre of our minds, yet deeper still we let them seep, of days long left behind. It seem time has passed so quickly, so many years, so many woes, amid the toils and troubles of the pathways that we chose. Regrets of wrongs not righted, of opportunities passed by, accolades for achievements satisfying to the eye. So, here we sit and rummage, with teary cheek and aching soul, wondering how it came to this. How did we get so old? Momentarily back in youthful mind, we reminisce of times long past, yet knowing to this present time we must return, at last. So, pictures, back in boxes, photographs - we'll close the book. We tuck the scraps of paper into the safety of a nook. For who knows when our hunger for the comfort of those years, will once more bring upon us the joy of shedding tears.