A Wasted Minute

I stand here today

Like Mr. Frost, I ponder:

Where do I go now?

There’s a south and a north,

There’s an east and a west.

There are places in between.

Stupidly standing here,

A mocking crossroad.

Time does not await,

That is the bottom line.

All the roads converge,

At the end, at the same point;

Different place, different time

Same ghastly destination,

Eternal sleep, perpetual life,

Reincarnated, at a heaven or hell;

Would a limbo world be better?

A similar fire, a similar hole,

Maybe even a similar casket.

At this point it doesn’t matter.

The done is done, the road,

The road here is traveled.

Solemnly a drum has stopped;

Culmination of a road traveled.

Copyright © 2010

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About B. Meza

Writing is liberating.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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