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journey from point A (womb) to point B (tasteful little urn on the mantle)

ticks and tocks and seashells

Gnome3by Annette Lee09 Jul 2013

Time is the sea -- tumbling blue and gray ahead of me --
I dangle a tentative toe in the froth of its edge --
the water appears to go on forever, but of course,
I know that it does not.
It comes to an end.
Do we get to choose the sort of end we want:
a quiet and wet tumbling over the edge of the world
into cloaking and numbing darkness?
or are we carried by a great, unforgiving tsunami,
full of the varied shrapnel of our lifetimes,
bruises and blood, kisses and hugs, love and loss --
slammed against the detritus
of some desolate unfamiliar shore?
I am no longer standing
at the sandy beach of the beginning.
I have survived the swells and storms, the dead calms
and the occasional sucking vortex of shock.
Am I closer to the place where there be dragons?
Will my modest dinghy simply glide
in countless little figure eights at the edge?
Is it too late to dream or
am I too old to dream?
I know happiness is not a forever state:
it’s like rare pearls we stumble onto,
and we string them together
to remember how happy felt.