We begin life nervously
Waiting in the wings
Queued up and ready to take center stage
each of us a rusty fragile link
in a fractious chain of humans
We embark on our quixotic quest
for meaning and connection
The truth of our transience
evades us at first
Or maybe we just refuse to let it creep in
We keep those thoughts at bay
We bury them under daily routine
for years at a time
Until we begin to sense
the slowing of the merry-go-round
and we see and feel
the snarled and toothy grin
of the carney worker
All rides must end
We lean hard from our painted ponies
Elbow pit married to the pole
We reach and stretch for the brass ring
And it’s promise of another ride
As if more ride is a cure-all
it isn’t
As if more time will sand the jagged edge
of disappointment and regret
It won’t.
We don’t need more time.
We need understand how little we have of it
bendingtheneedle 