Poetry

Today was like blades of withered grass fading away.
Time passed — and with it, I.
It felt like staring into an abyss,
With nothing to do but think.

How about you — how was your day?
Did it belong to you,
Or was it wrested from your hands?
Did time sneak upon you
Like a child stealing meat from his mother’s pot —
Quick, reckless, unapologetic?
Or was it a tool in your hands,
A weapon yielding and bending to your will?

And how are you, really?
Is your mind like a well-arranged shelf,
Thoughts ordered and neatly packed?
Or more like a scattered room —
Clothes strewn across the floor,
Memories unfolded, emotions left hanging?

Beruiah