The Past

The nameless unremembered “acts of kindness” are never lost,

They whisper to our dreams

Like a mother’s hum on the distance edge of sleep.

They are the ghost of benevolence

Whose many unseen hands lifts us in seasons of pain

And lead us to chapels of faith in the stained glass

Of our perceptions. Their influence is always there,

The way the stars are always there, even,

In day the distant sun of times past,

Mixing their light with their bright noon of the present.