Endless halls,

pictures hanging every where..

Open doors,

that lead to no where..

Time travel,

a thing of the past..


is all that really last..

High notes and low,

from here where do we go..

Hear the music

move through the air..

Children playing

with out a care..

Harbour lights

go from bright to dim..

Reality is

just over the rim..

Edge of time

is just at the door

memories last for evermore...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this poem was actually
dictated in my mind it is
about growing old with only memories

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Ruth Lovejoy's picture

I dont know if I agree with time travel a thing of the past because every moment lived is a travel of a form though if you perceive a moment gone then it could indeed be the past but what of the given moment,that then is the now not the past. Harbor lights go from bright to dim well that could be the physical light of it could ages passing too metaphorically,reality just being over the rim- yes if one is daydreaming and then comes back to the now realm that is true,Edge of time is just a door memories last for ever more- every door open is experience of the moment which of course in the long run becomes memory of one sort or another. I like this piece,it make you think