Like rooftops we age, and wane
We do all we can to stall the process
Maybe even reverse it
We long for days when we were younger
And forget those were not our best
We forget that, like rooftops
We were impenetrable to the deep wonders
And beauties of this life.
Like a sliver ring on a finger
We guard those we love
Cage them into surrender
They must stay
They must never leave
Until we decide
Until the choice is ours
We forget that love is a fragile thing
Like air, little can a ring do to contain it
The choice is never really ours.
Like crayons, we colour
Stark distinctions scare
Fear is but smoke pointing to
Something burning inside us that we must put out
We vent anger and revolt till we catch ourselves
Bleeding, broken beyond mere repair
We can’t save ourselves
Like broken crayons, we still colour
And so we think we are fine.
Throughout the month, I’d be posting contributions to a poem series titled – ‘These Are The Days of Our Lives‘. You can read the unofficial prelude here. Want to give the prompt a go? Leave a comment.