Poetry

Time

A poem, inspired by Poetry Playground Writing Prompt #28

Image by Pandav Tank, via Unsplash

We begin as dust,
unseen and rarely felt,
glimmering atoms amidst a sea of the infinite.

Soon enough, we are flesh.
Innocence abundant, chaotic and unkempt but
shimmering,
a guiding light for all elders,
a spirit.

Over time, we grow
to be disgusted with ourselves,
to make mistakes that will stick with us,
to mark our world for better or worse.

Our glue lagoon begins to grow,
sticking to our feet,
attaching baggage to our backs.
We curate a life, in all its beauty and its ugliness,
and carry it with us,
a permanent home.

As we age, most things fade —
we lose our beauty, we lose our energy
but we gain in understanding
and knowledge of this world.

Eventually, we complete the circle,
becoming dust again as though nothing happened,
unnoticeable a few…