Festina Lente

Festina Lente Ah! the long or short hours of every day, Whether catastrophic, boring or gay. Oh to expunge those with mishap fraught And recall in full the delightful sort. Our pasts are quietly laid in a mental grave, Waning, like a spent, retreating wave. Special moments just a passing phase, Like ghosts fading in time’s vacuous haze. It seems we cannot wait to move ahead, And choice experiences too soon are dead. The past like rubbish thrown in time’s refuse bin, Along the road of hours we wander in. And indeed of what use is “right now”, A mere furrow turning behind life’s plough. Some idle talk of what we call the present? But is there indeed any such event? The experience of life is a moving train, It does not stop for joy or pain. You can but snatch at life rushing past. Only memory makes the experience last. What lies ahead may be dimly perceived, Even distract from enjoyment to be received, Albeit changed somewhat from prior cause, But swiftly rushing, with scant pause. Think! Could you halt the forward dash? Or slow life’s train for just a flash? Wouldn’t you freeze some blissful time, To bask forever in that clime? Nor let bad experiences that occur, Blight your soul from year to year. Do you anguish at losing a lottery draw And cease buying tickets evermore? So appreciate passing joys with all your powers. Sharply relive them in idle hours. In these ways cheat the thief we call the past, Then only happy moments will last and last.