The art of living in the moment

If steps could have been quiet,

Or at least taken a bit slow,

These memories would have

Been remembered in the past.

Early mornings, late nights until 2AM,

This was disguised as a cloud awaiting

For a false sunshine to rise;

All day long mops and brooms

Glided over friction floors

That grazed my memory.

Remembering hurts some nights,

A reminder of what hard work is,

A resentment of not knowing then

That now was built off of the fragments that fell from this fragile mind.

A memory played part to a murder

Of the sane, kind hearted, calm

Demeanor of a vigilant vigilante

Of the mindset.

Mind set on moving forward;

Yet backwards was the motion

Moving forward in smiles and weak faith,
All bagged together for the sake of

A pleasant experience for a new customer.