his quiet reflections (a poem)

Looking upon the lives of others
A kaleidoscope of colors and childlike wonders
‘I used to be seen,’ he recalls
A scream lodged in his chest at the chance to be someone different

Ready made box, a popular life model
Less of a fuss, nice and modest
He won’t live life twice, tacked to his third act as he is
What he has acquired will have to speak for him in the end

Though he still breathes and his heart still beats
Dust motes dance in the museum that is his home
Having defined his wants so soon
His quiet reflections resumes, there is nothing else for him to do

Christina Schmidt, MA
armedwithcoffee