To learn something new,
something breathtakingly new,
unlearn something old.
When you borrow blues,
they fade from deep indigo
to pale robin’s egg.
You can tell you’ve been around a while
by things that come back into style,
like diets, music, fashions, and the like
I’ve had to ignore disco twice and
I still don’t think tie dye looks nice,
I never know where the sequel bug will strike.
But the thing that comes as no surprise
that makes me sigh and roll my eyes
is Liberal hindsight that casts a rosy glow
over arrogance and the plan to cast
a blasted name from out of the past
and foist a “PM” sequel: “Justin – Son of Trudeau.”
The old Singer stands in the corner waiting,
legs still slim and pretty, veneer still holding,
though the years have left their scars.
And sometimes I let her sing again,
let her merrily ‘chat-chat-chat-chat-chat’
as we pass the cloth back and forth,
like old times.
But yesterday I sat with threaded needle and
quietly sewed by hand.
She seems to sleep more now a days,
in her corner, on her slim and pretty legs.
The younger you are
the more future you anticipate.
Glory days all waiting in
treasure chests and you hold the key,
like a queen in your garden of dreams.
Some days my head hurts with dreams.
I am overwhelmed by who I might become.
Glory days are forever in a moment
a moment in forever.
The older you get
the more past you accumulate.
Glory days all locked in
individual cells and you hold the key,
like a warden in your prison of memories.
Some days my head hurts with memories.
I am overwhelmed by who I have been.