except, those times I didn’t try at all.
It was so easy then to let the vacant time roll by
Who knew that we were rolling towards the fall?
I’d grit my teeth, hang on to my belief that it would all work out
and work it did
as if then bid
if working means
to end the scene
as lives careen
towards empty hearts coiled up into a ball.
I think I tried as hard back then as a shallow man can try,
at least, that is the way that I recall.
For all I know, I indulge myself by telling myself a lie
to wriggle from the truth that others saw.
For memories work hard to please
such work they do
strain to renew
to push away
the bare decay
as if to say
there’s something still here, left here after all.