Margin Notes

Each day is written
One instant at a time
The actual deeds that transpired
While our feet were mired
In the everyday
The requirements
That drain our energy
Steal our power
Every minute
Every hour

If only we could stop time
To move our thoughts
From the banal
To the sublime
Go back over our days
Remembering the thoughts
That made up our desires
That remain undone
Because their frivolity
Was a far distant second
To the necessities
Writ large upon the page

I would write notes
In the margins down the page
Those desires and hopes
Left in my brain every day
My wildest imaginings
And deepest desires
Moments of zen
And my lustiest fires
Of unbridled passion
If only in my daydreams
Loosed on the page
Scrawled in shaky hand
Musings of my unrealized existence
Lost to the history of deeds
And bad handwriting
A marginalized accounting
Of lost dreams
And broken promises
I once made to myself

And then to take those notes
Those edits of my own acts
And re-write the page
To use future days
My personal plays
So I may strut and fret
My own hour
Upon a stage
Of my own creation
That my actions
Do signify something
A life well lived
Revelling in the sunlight
Out from under
The shadows of past timidity
Living on the page
Center stage
No longer in the margins.

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