I live in a museum, antiquated,
dust filled and hope dissipated.
It's a place of things that have been,
reminders of what's come to pass.
When looking to the future in a
place of the past, it's impossible
to envision the world with rose
colored glasses. Residing in
the history of ones life leaves you
with lenses jaded green, from which
only a narrow perspective can
Be seen.
YOU ARE READING
Wanting
PoetryHve you ever felt like second place to something else: maybe a parent is too busy working, a friend too occupied, a lover not as interested as they used to be, or even to your own obligations and desires? This is a poem about feeling undervalued.
