A Ledger of Lived Moments

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In the depths of my mind, a ledger resides,

A place where numbers sleep, and time gently glides.

It's not a book of paper, with lines neat and straight,

But a feeling, a knowing, sealed by fate.


A mental math machine, where numbers abide,

From single digits tiny, to figures far and wide.

No calculator needed, no buttons to press,

Just a hum in my head, a silent finesse.


No pencil to guide, no eraser to mend,

Just thoughts that connect, that never quite end.

My brain's internal clock, a steady, quiet pride,

Keeping rhythm and reason, deep down inside.


It tracks the passing days, the weeks, the months, the years,

A constant, gentle hum, dispelling all fears.

It knows when the seasons turn, when spring starts to bloom,

And whispers of winter, escaping the gloom.


A constant, nagging voice, through joy and through tears,

A reminder of moments, both happy and sears.

It echoes softly, "Remember this scene,"

"Recall this feeling, so vivid and keen."


It whispers "Tuesday's next" or "it's time to pay,"

The debts of the future, that shorten each day.

The bills of time, in a never-ending display,

Demanding attention, come what may.


Like a calculator hidden, but always on my mind,

Adding and subtracting, of every single kind.

It crunches and it whirs, leaving no number behind,

A tireless accountant, of all that I find.


No need for paper trails, no proof to reveal,

The truth of the figures, is what I truly feel.

My brain's internal chronometer, a sole, unfaltering feel,

A compass of moments, both false and real.


It keeps a running total, of hours, of days, of nights,

Of sunshine and starlight, of darkness and lights.

A mental tally, that's always in sight,

A spectrum of moments, both dark and bright.


A reminder of the passage, of time's relentless stride,

Each tick and each tock, a continuous ride.

My mind's own personal clock, forever inside,

A keeper of memories, where secrets hide.


It's not a perfect system, it can sometimes stray,

Lost in reflections, from yesterday.

But it finds its way back, to the present, so true,

Reminding me gently, of all that I do.


So I listen closely, to this voice in my head,

This mental clock ticking, from my heart to my tread.

For in its steady rhythm, I find a sense of place,

A quiet acceptance, of life's fleeting embrace.

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