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.