Faster than the speed of life,
I glimpsed myself in an old rocking chair
with shaky palms clasping a handpainted mug.
A giggle transported me back to the passing present,
pressed tightly against me
the child with soft baby hair
, the aroma of freedom from his scalp.
I almost cried,
knowing what he did not yet know:
All it turning, growing only to wilt.
I opened my mouth to utter a warning
but was met only by the silence
of my love for the child.
Instead, I held him on my lap
and handed him another block to stack.
I watched him push it over,
that lopsided tower we built…
this to must pass, I suppose.
Eighteen on the verge of entering the world,
I mused to him, you and I,
we are quite alike after all.
Another musing the fleetingness of life and how quickly I find myself and those around me growing up.Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts with me in the comments below.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”