Portrait Of My Past

By Posted in Philosophy Tagged 2 Comments

I gaze with burning eyes
at the portrait of my past.

Exiled from its beauty,
no longer mine.

Ageless days;
their colors ripen
like eternally-autumn leaves.

While my skin, my strength
each day fades, fails.

old man

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2 thoughts on “Portrait Of My Past”

  1. I really like this poem Reimo, especially the line: “Exiled from its beauty, no longer mine.” Unstoppable growth and the natural deterioration of our bodies seems like such a tragedy.

    Reply

    • Thanks Matt! The fact that our bodies are destined to return to nature can seem tragic. But I think in this poem, the speaker is also choosing to torment him/herself, rather than accept the inevitable and come to terms with it.

      Reply

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