Unpretentiously, she enters a room
eyes no longer lift to acknowledge her
there is no effecting command,
no second glance warranted.
Time takes who we were,
until those we know
no longer recognize us .
Yet inside, we do not change.
Hope is but a chimera perceived by those
who’ve bought into the illusion.
There was always a ready smile behind the mask,
and eyes that danced in the place where the crickets still sing,
yet now she’s seen akin to the years she carries...
the clock ever ticking, minutes, hours
days, years—ever forward.
She tiptoes in the sand and wonders
if there really is some master plan.
She waits for time to pass,
for change at last, for a stir in the wind…
where do we end and someone else begins?
where do we go when we close our eyes?
who do we become when who we’ve been disappears?
© Ginny Brannan 2022
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Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.