The Story of My Life
What is it but perception
No more or no less than
What I think it is
I count the days
Squeeze out the paint
The years go by
It all happens so quickly
What is it but perception
No more or no less than
What I think it is
I count the days
Squeeze out the paint
The years go by
It all happens so quickly
Over before I have even
Figured out the order of things
Leave the door open
Welcome the stranger
You have seen him
Many times on the road
You dream the future
But it isn’t yours' to control
Figured out the order of things
Leave the door open
Welcome the stranger
You have seen him
Many times on the road
You dream the future
But it isn’t yours' to control
The future seeks it’s own
Like water in a stream
As time passes
I am fading
Becoming a ghost in the
Story that is my life
Never complete
Just reaching a conclusion
Like water in a stream
As time passes
I am fading
Becoming a ghost in the
Story that is my life
Never complete
Just reaching a conclusion
I whisper my goodbyes
Not really audible on my lips
Written on small sheets of white paper
Folded carefully
Like small white shells
Scattered on a beach
Left for shell seekers to find
Not really audible on my lips
Written on small sheets of white paper
Folded carefully
Like small white shells
Scattered on a beach
Left for shell seekers to find
Note: Robert's prompt was a water poem. I am home from my trip and am looking for where I left off my life, still a little dizzy…
18 comments:
life is so fleeting - and often time just runs - i'm glad for the small moments along the way and hope to leave some footprints once i'm gone
Over before I have even
Figured out the order of things
- oooh know that feeling well.
Also like the image of 'squeezing out the paint' and the sense of becoming a ghost in one's own life...
The future seeks it’s own
Like water in a stream
Doesn't it? The whispered goodbyes on folded slips of paper seemed very tender and yet so fatalistic. I think my folded slips of paper are hidden within lines of my verses and will be obvious to anyone who wants to see them. Beautiful work.
So many great images. Love the squeezing the paint and the bits of paper for shell seekers. This poem makes me want to get up and get moving before I lose the day. I think I will!
I feel an aloneness, a sadness to this reflection, and am hoping that there some happy times here too.
Thoughts of our own mortality have featured large with me in the past few months, and then I wonder what mark I will leave, and the manner of my leaving. It is a strange place to find myself, and your poem reflects my state of mind. Thank you for sharing this - lots of food for thought.
Interesting write. Though I think of it as that I have all the time left to me to do the things that I will do. >KB
Hi Annell, Good stuff - especially liked: "squeezing out the paint..." - great metaphor and spot on.... With Best Wishes Scott www.scotthastie.com
How life quickly passes by; how quickly days become months become years,
Love the idea of the scattered shells waiting to be discovered.
Anna :o]
Oh my this is beautiful! Cheers!
Where have you been, Annell? Hope it was a good trip. I so resonate with this poem. I, too, feel like I am fading these days...........I love the folded messages (our poems).......and the small white shells. Beautiful.
As long as one is in firm control there should not be too much worry. Emotions can lead one astray so they say! Great write annell!
Hank
You dream the future, but it is yours to control. Interesting idea, Annell. Becoming a ghost in the story that is my life...wow, yes, I can feel that, too.
Powerful write.
So much to gather and keep safe in these carefully drawn words..it feels to early for goodbyes but i guess we must pass them on safely..i love those sheets of white paper and shells..very precious
I am thinking all we say, is goodbye?
"Over before I have even/Figured out the order of things"
Story of my life, that. I love the small pieces of paper as shells, the specific and the infinite somehow combined. Thank you.
especially like these lines:
You dream the future
But it isn’t yours' to control ~
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