Don’t Blink

Don’t blink

Before you know it, the furniture has been rearranged,

you are older

and caressing the lovely scars and

you are

smiling.

Don’t blink

The milestones, gone, past you,

and you did not touch them, 

you think, the distance 

wilted yellow pedals now.

Your soul reaches 10 or 43 or 120, and you stare as if

searching, but

the moment is past tense.

Don’t blink

You remember what you did touch, 

Your story is yours, your regrets just bags 

you checked onto the next connector,

or left at the turnstile.

You don’t remember the past as anything more

or less, 

than a passport stamp,

and how you traveled time,

the time you gave up spent and gone,

as a two-pence or bit or solid gold crown,

admission,

passage,

to adventures ahead,

to this moment now,

eyes wide open,

smiling.

Don’t blink,

because the room changes,

the wallpaper drips down to the floor,

and there is always another layer,

or another room

another door.

_______

The “you” in this poem is myself.  This type of second person dissociation is particularly helpful when I feel a wiser me needs to speak to a frustrated me.

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This entry was posted in Choices, connections, growth, moving on, plans, promises, spirit, trust and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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