I’m beginning to see
Some green on the trees.
Leaves are beginning to show.
Still, quite a few others
Appear to be dead
But I’m not!
 I’m very much alive and eager 
To get on with it, the
Writing, writing, writing
Emptying
Vessels of my silly
Thoughts of past remembrances
Of times gone away.  That’s okay,
Because,
I’m brain cleaning, tickling, flipping
With the feather duster,
Teasing, tossing little thoughts
And memories about 
While dislodging them
and making them useful
as words on paper.

I’m reaching into dark corners
With spiders and webs
So thick and beautiful
That I have to pull them down with clenched fists
And teeth to reveal what they are hiding,
not on purpose
Simply put away, 
Not thoughts I’m using everyday.

Isn’t it funny how long
A memory may hide and then surface
When you are least expecting it and come crashing down upon your head
Shocking you with the truths it holds and reveals
To help you sometimes settle 
With yourself and come to grips 
With who you are.

The past is truth however cold
Or distant it may be.
It still is.
But there is no denying it is there
And waiting for you to unlock the door
So it may escape
To this one reality
And make you know
You are not immortal.
Only human like the rest.