We are all works in progress
Laying down fresh scars on old open wounds
New lines, new shades over faded works
Previous masterpieces
Old failures
Rewritten, renewed

Each rebirth stinks
Leaving us dazed and disoriented
The smells make us giddy, confused
We grit through it
Waiting for a final end result
In the hopes that it is beautiful

But life is never finished
Life never ceases
It paints us in its own colors
Sometimes disfiguring
Sometimes painful
Sometimes breathtakingly beautiful
But almost always


Add yours →

  1. Never perfectly finished. Always remolded and fired consistently. Quite a meaningful poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So true~

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Because we can never write the final poem

    Liked by 1 person

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