Walking down that little brown path,
It's layers swirled with water mud,
It's detail murky and old,
I think of a time when I knew not the present,
And wisdom was future to behold.
And still that is, but for one thing,
I know and think more than I did.
For I have beheld and still will behold,
But then I had not beheld now.
And wisdom out of reach then is here in my mind,
And I think,
Oh, all the things!
All the things I would've done,
All the things I would've skipped,
All the things I would've been contented with.
I would have crossed that line,
And jumped that rock,
And pushed that boat along too,
I wouldn't have said goodbye,
Or said hello,
Or helped you win that race.
But now that is past me,
Swirling in the mud on my feet,
Running through the water on my shoes.
What now, shall I do,
Knowing what I did and did not do?
And what then shall I do,
Knowing what I'm doing and never did?
Oh, the past is a river, reflecting myself,
Always gaining in mass and size,
The present a trail underfoot,
And the future a mountain waiting to be climbed,
But ending always, at that topmost peak.
YOU ARE READING
Pieces of My Puzzled Heart
PoetryIt's a collection of my poetry. One of the main presiding topics is the idea of darkness, but there are also other things that are happier. I don't really know what to say other than that. Oh wait. My book is totally AWESOME and you should READ IT(l...
