Sticky Ball

We build our life

from tiny little pieces

of our past 

selves

 

like a small sticky ball

gathering up everything it touches

as it wobbles

toward the horizon

 

As it rolls

it changes shape

direction

speed

color

 

Until the tiny little pieces

of our ever-growing past

make that small, sticky, wobbly ball

unrecognizable 

 

and

it stops

 

just

on

the 

edge

 

Where the Cliff

meets

The Horizon

 

 

 

 

 

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fuche_bu's picture

sticky ball?  I'm afraid to

sticky ball?  I'm afraid to ask but nice poem.

Beatnik1979's picture

Yeah

I like the metaphor.

We are the summation of all those things we pick up along the way..

changing us...

its relevant and a decent Lens to see coming of age through.

bravo.