The bell curve of life

Little stories tucked under my pillow, seldom told.
Our memories, faded yet vibrant, gathering mold, growing old.
Eminence of forty,
a little naughty,
a little spotty.
Bell curves and learning,
life turning,
a candle burning.
Mere mortals we are,
life close, life far.
Clinging to our memories and sometimes evading reality,
meaningless relations, shallow cordiality,
Losing steam yet clinging to vitality.
Silently the wheels are turning,
the bell curve of learning, a candle burning.

Masters of sweet nothings

Promises made, quietly forgotten
Sweet exterior, insides rotten,

We dreamt a dream, you dreamt alone,
Quietly I leave, sad, forlorn.

Now I know what to call you,
Masters of sweet nothings.

A promise here, an assurance elsewhere,
Over the years, reality came bare.

The commitment of time, promises thrown out,
The futility of change, the cementing of doubt.

Simple souls, lost in materiality,
Each sweet nothing, a myth not reality.

The hunger in their eyes, is it for knowledge or money?
Little masters of tact, misled by promises, ironic or funny?

Like putty in our hands, so easy to convert,
With lies and deceit, so easy to subvert.

Time to move on, time to build,
Loyal souls, members of a guild.

No we will not negotiate with those that are ours,
Even to others, send chocolates and flowers.

I came to build and not to destroy,
I leave you my all, go ahead, enjoy.

Walk through my garden, with each step be gentle
Be soft and yet be firm,
You are free to decide, pulpit or mantle?

I know now to call you, the masters of sweet nothings.