Relics In the Hallway
Time is a mirrored hallway.
As you walk down it, the past echoes at your heels,
The present flashes briefly as you pass,
And each step brings you closer to a future you can never see.
Life is what happens between the past and the future.
Every second we live is both the birth and the death
Of that particular moment in time.
We can never know if there'll be a next one;
All we can ever really know is now.
Though living only occurs in those brief glimpses of the present,
Much of life is taken up with remembering the past
And planning for the future.
But, as important as those things are,
Or seem to be,
Does either of them really matter in the here and now?
The longer I live, and the older I grow,
The more I'm content to be what I've seemingly become…
A relic.
That long, long hallway of time, at times,
Has almost proved too much for me.
All those mirrors, all those reflections.
But relics have thick hides,
We learn how to adapt and survive.
Relicdom doesn't have to be synonymous with defeat.
I would rather be an old, scarred, but undaunted relic,
Grittily holding on to what I can of the past,
But eager to see what the future has in store,
Than be an old, fearful, derelict relic,
Holed up in a dark nook or cranny somewhere along the way,
Afraid to acknowledge life as it passes by,
Just biding and waiting for time to catch up to me
And swallow me up.
Life consists of before and after;
Living is what happens in between.
The challenge is to make every second count,
And make a graceful and dignified exit
When you run out of mirrors
And reach the end of that hallway.
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.
