Forward

I.

Outside that window,

Grass growing tall about it,

Stands a garden.

Neglected and overtaken,

Alone.

II.

In the meadow is there,

A child’s ball left to lie,

Impressed into earth.

Color washed pale by sun,

Un-found.

III.

Lying deathly by roadside,

The bicycle’s rusted carcass,

Entangled in weeds.

Ne’er to be ridden again,

Unused.

IV.

Each left behind,

Memories, a past pursuit,

Forgotten games, trips.

Part of personal history,

Discarded.

V.

New endeavors found,

Sought after with delight,

While old delights die.

The present alive, past gone.

Forward.

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About John White

I've written off and on my entire life. It took years for me to finally take putting words together seriously. Now it's not, nor does it ever feel, like work. Writing daily has become habitual. No day is complete without words having appeared on the page.

Posted on October 8, 2014, in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 14 Comments.

  1. Yes, we are always moving forward. I thought about items from the past, that I once cherished, after reading this. Loved it!

  2. ah, yes, winter and spring…death and rebirth.

    this is an excellent piece of writing and thought!

    Thank you; I commend your for growing MY hope today. 🙂

  3. As we grow old we leave so many things behind…some times they are just bicycles other times they are dream but every time we move on to new things. I very much like that part of your poem.

    As I was writting your poem reminded me (I guess the subject matter are loosely related) about a Sleeping at Last song called East:

    i set out to rule the world
    with only a paper shield and a wooden sword.
    no mountain dare stand in my way,
    even the oceans tremble in my wake.

    the tide is brave, but always retreats.
    even the sand, it cowers under my feet.
    my kingdom towers above it all,
    while i sleep safe and sound in my cardboard walls.

    now i bear little resemblance to the king i once was.
    i bear little resemblance to the king i could become.
    maybe paper is paper, maybe kids will be kids-
    Lord, i want to remember how to feel like i did.

    so i draw my sword with the morning sun,
    i summon the moon as soon as the day is done.
    the clouds march on, on my command.
    even the rain, it falls according to plan.
    the trees bow down and give their leaves.
    i humbly accept their offerings of peace.

    the years wore on and changed my heart,
    the leading role for a smaller part.

    now i bear little resemblance to the king i once was.
    i bear little resemblance to the king i could become.
    maybe paper is paper, maybe kids will be kids.
    but Lord, i want to remember how to feel like i did.
    ’cause i bear little resemblance to the king i once was.
    i bear little resemblance to the king i could become.
    maybe paper is paper, maybe kids will be kids.
    but Lord, i want to remember how to feel like i did.

    i set out to rule the world
    with only a paper shield and a wooden sword.

    Sleeping at Last song

    The line: now i bear little resemblance to the king i once was…striked my heart, I guess because I still want to be that King that I used to be!

    • Thank you! I agree that as we age we leave certain things behind while we also take on the new. Old habits out – new in. Old interests or hobbies out – new in. Of course there are occasionally some things that we leave behind we would be wise to keep with us. Learning that balance might help us all to bear more resemblance to the kings (or queens) we once were.

  4. This was a wonderful read! I enjoyed your use of colorful garden / yard imagery, and thematically the conveyance that we must move “forward” is the light shining upon an otherwise grim reality. Keep up the good work!

  5. Reblogged this on BARRIER BREAKING ENTERPRISES and commented:
    Great reflection on the state of things left and passion lost..

  6. Loved this…poignant with wonderful imagery!

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