Poem: Turning Pages

Interior

I am not ready for tomorrow, but if it is any consolation

Yesterday, I was not ready for today.

It is easy to want to stay in place, but we can’t,

The world keeps chugging like a treadmill.

You stay in place, you stumble.

You fall. You hurt.

And you don’t land in the past because the past is gone.

 

Nothing can be preserved, but if it is any consolation

Preserved whims and thingamajigs rarely taste as good,

Or shine as brightly, or even sparkle.

We are all growing all the time.

Trying to stunt momentum will gain you bruises only.

 

We are not stone anyway. We are lights.

We are flickering. We are burning out.

But thank God, this is our gift.

Burn brightly as best you can.

 

Be not afraid of turning pages.

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