Lost in the now

In past I dwell as I feel lost,
through lanes of memories I go
away from all that is the now.
With much, too much forgotten pain
my place is in the cellar of my mind.

I now am archivist who works
in underground and moldy rooms
where daylight never comes to me.
I place the files on rolling shelves.
Don’t try to find me, this is home a while.

NaPoWriMo Waiting for the right time we die

Waiting for the right time we die.
Bridges are not built, hands not reached,
the moment doesn’t come,
procrastinated in eternity
we die and all is too late.