Scrapbook Of The Mind

I open my scrapbook most every day;
viewing its pictures of every kind;
exposing its memories that always stay;
for it’s the scrapbook of my mind.

There’s not a physical scrapbook involved;
the picures are scrolling across my mind;
none of my past failures can be resolved;
to all of my guilt, I’m totally resigned.

If I could shelve this particular “book,”
I would enjoy each day, much more;
viewing nothing; but today’s “look”,
would all of my faith, restore.

I can’t ever escape their toxicity;
ever before me, at inopportune times;
demonic forces, seem in complicity;
benign mistakes pictured as crimes.

Then, there’s the happiness forever, gone;
that most perfect day, one September.
Its most important participant’s passed on;
why must my scrapbook remember?

If I could somehow start over again;
with no remembrance of anything past;
only then, could a real new life begin;
where forever the present would last.

Perhaps, that’s why God’s given us death;
that it’s a gift, will be our surprise;
for once we have taken our last breath;
God replaces our scrapbooks with new lives.