Notes on an Old Diary

A record...or is it? Is the mind just a journal too?

Coming across a few pages, crammed in some corner
More than a score of years ago
Filled with plans, wants, needs, desires, wishes
And, above all, thoughts, more thoughts.
And then some.

The pages greying with age, a little bent
around the corners
With no space for any more – plans, wants,
needs, desires, wishes, or even thoughts.
No more.

Written as it flowed, much like thoughts
unrecorded in these twenty years
At least not on paper
The space filled with them blank, yet
no room.

Is that what we do - when we go through
it all, leaving a record behind
for others to rejoice in or despise?
Taking into the nothingness beyond
thoughts of no thought.