At the end of my life, I live,
And dream my way back
Through a thousand acres of time
To when I sat small and unalone,
Listening to the whispers
Of unloved maple leaves.
At the end of my life, I live,
Visited by streams of illusions.
An aroma of fresh fruits and vegetables
Struggles to hold it's own
Among the stronger odors of fish and aging cheese,
While I seek disrememberance.
At the end of my life, I live
A shadow in a generation of impression makers.
I, so hung up on words, while they contemplate,
Reading only books that evaluate awareness,
And seeking to calculate man's destiny
To the smallest particle.
At the end of my life, I live
And am satisfied to be
An anchor held by the delicate threads of time.
I dream my way back,
Through memories bitter and sweet.
I have aged and mellowed
To the essence of life
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Comments: 36
I have aged and mellowed
To the essence of life"
Nicely done, Shelbia.
with words that amazes this old gal. *smiles*
I can see that. Good piece. Thank you.
And am satisfied to be
An anchor held by the delicate threads of time.
i hope i feel the same.
bravo.
The undertones of comfort you’ve so beautifully penned make this a wonderful read. It is interwoven with just the right strokes of gentility and strength; offering a refreshing and apropos reflection and insight into the end of life.
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The viewpoint is inspired, the words make such unusual imaging.
an edifice old not tired to see and feel from
eyes of age-old Poet behold inspired
sound of everyday bold !!!
Good stuff.