Living
A chance encounter with a word
gave rise to a recessed memory
of a long forgotten smell,
attached to various things hoary.
Thus unearthing an era,
long gone and nullified,
pressed under sheets of experiences
like the fossil of a reptile.
The folded lobes of the mind
contain chapters of lives past.
A smell here, a sound there
are enough to raise their facade.
We are so busy in living
that the beauty of the moment is lost.
Only such triggered visions
make us realize what we tossed.
A life well lived,
or a life lived not?
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
