Quietly contemplating the moving hands
The weathered face of an ancient pocket watch
Its origin likely anchored in days nearly forgotten
Better times to some, hardship to others
Now sadly, only the ups and downs remain
Passing seconds harboring tales of humanity
Recollections of existing and living
Lifetimes spent in search of something meaningful
Others simply passing by like a shadow
Colorizing the world for but a moment
We remember the wars, famine, and hardship
Days when living was nearly equal to dying
Empty bellies, empty wallets, empty pantries
Young men resting under six feet of earth
Young love and young ladies left behind
Oil booms, market busts, and necessity
Mothering-in inventions that made life better
Conflicts on the streets between the races
Children lost amongst the empty spaces
As the bulldozer of progress moves ever forward
To those who seek, that which is momentarily forgotten
Each passing second is another wall
Building blocks in the mausoleum of history
Hallowed by thy name which we called many things
When simply stating “lost” would meet our needs
Does anyone speak for the moments of obscurity?
Weeks and months between the ups and downs
Where nothing happened anywhere; everywhere
The papers had little to report on
As if the world decided to take a short vacation
Forgotten are the photographs of those quiet times
When lover’s shared hurried whispers and moments
Thin bands of silver and gold slipped over soft fingers
One soiled knee and a commitment to forever
Honorable oaths exchanged under a shady tree
Lines of families walking in their Sunday best
Heads bowed reverently, children walking silently
The rows of headstones always there to remind
Flowers blooming from the falling tears
A passing moment in a passing lifetime
The notch aside the kitchen door
Another inch taller, another passing year
Shoes too small, jacket tight in the chest
Faded jumper handed down, finally to rest
And the school bell ringing in the distance
Reunions in grassy groves, with borrowed chairs
Tables covered with every family recipe
Dogs begging, babies crying, baseball and lemonade
Giggles and snickers at every aunt and uncle kiss
And the forever-warmth of grandma’s hugs
Smoke from the charcoal and grandpa’s Chevy
Teenage boys, their heads buried under the hood
Whispers of the gals as they watched them tinker
Warm summer nights chasing fireflies
Fireworks, campfires, and lazy fishing from the docks
The tears from a lost baseball, or a lost game
Mother’s apron to dry their eyes
Milk and cookies to bring back their smiles
The dust of home plate upon their dungarees
The arms of friends around their shoulders
Conversations, speeches, and orations
When the spoken words were still spoken
Important things were written down and preserved
Diaries and journals had real meaning
Unknowingly, as the keepers of history
So when I find myself lost momentarily
Quietly contemplating the dial of twelve
Please try not to interrupt me
For the historian, every moment is important, with meaning
I’m remembering that which I was unable to see
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