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