Life in a Box

In moving to a new home, I have brought everything –

All the things that have been with me through my life so far;

And for a moment, I stare on in stunned silence

As I see how cluttered the house looks already.

.

Reluctantly, I unpack the towers of boxes,

Taking out the things that I think I will need most.

It isn’t until I reach the bottom layers

That I get side-tracked from this game of priorities.

.

Buried beneath the mounds of books and broken pencils

Lies all the jumbled paraphernalia of my past,

And I wonder how they could have ever been relevant.

They are all so random and seemingly have nothing to do with each other.

.

And I wonder if that has been my life all this time –

Random fragments thrown together in one box;

And I realise that I have persisted in carrying them with me

Because I still wanted to make sense of them.

.

It is like looking through a kaleidoscope –

My present is speckled with the vivid glass beads of my past;

And I have stared down it for so long in trying to know them

That the striking patterns have been branded on my mind.

.

I wonder how long I have been this way –

With one eye squeezed shut and the other glued to the ‘scope;

I wonder if this is all that life is about –

To be constantly trying to solve a past that never was.

.

Have I really wasted my life being hung up on things long gone?

Do I even exist in the present at all?

Or am I the memory and souvenir of a past moment

And the items in the boxes are what’s alive now?

.

Somehow, they seem so much more real,

Now that they are devoid of all meaning.

And I appreciate them as they are –

Things that exist for their own sake, and not mine.

.

.

.

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This entry was published on February 1, 2013 at 7:32 PM. It’s filed under Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

write the fox

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