Living in the Possibilities We Dream

To watch paint dry is like watching the poetry of time,

watching white paint yellow and crack as the weather passes by.

A poetry unnoticed, yet acknowledged each time we wake in bed.

It's like looking at the stars,

each night we value what's long past dead.

Even looking at the barren shore,

watch the waves come and go.

If we didn't have the memories,

would we ever even know what's been taken from us

or what's been lost?

Did we even make the most of the light?

Did we wither in the dark,

yellow and crack like the white?

Each time we live in ageless time,

in the many possibilities we dream.

You didn't notice your hands grow or change.

It's been the same to you, it seems.

It seems we notice our own age

from the things around we see.

To be prepared, yet unprepared all the same.

When the respect you fought to earn

comes naturally to the age besides your name.

When birthdays are less of possibilities

and more regrets.

Do you keep smiling each day

so you can hide all the shame?

To keep time the same

is to keep living in the past,

to watch the weather pass by,

come and go,

never knowing which day might be our last.

Would you make the most of the moments

or wither and panic

if you had known the day you would die?

Watch your paint dry,

living in the poetry of time,

over the fading horizon

where the singing birds I swear could speak.

You, the chalice of poetry to a good wine,

taking all of it in over the fading horizon.

You do not speak.

You pen down everything in ink and just watched,

as all the words just started to shine

in the now darkened night sky.

Now there is a riddle you ponder

as you take in that good, good wine.

17/06/26✔️

Fōns Vitae - “Fountain of Life”