Habituation
What you don’t see is the river of mind
coming through from the past.
The future also comes through,
your handprints are all in place
waiting to be nailed down.
You see a brush leaning against a wall,
it's the sweep already swept,
what it brushed away was this day.
You think you made it through,
but it's not a real life that lives you,
and only you walk through it.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment