A life lived to its fullest, only, what is it? Is it a ghost? A prune? Just a gust of character, to run along the path? Or perhaps a leaf, floating slowly to the ground, telling its tale? You decide, but both these poems are the same thing.
A Life Well Lived
You are an abandoned boat,
Cut, bruised, and rigid,
But still afloat.
The image you portray is troublesome and depressing.
How old you are, no one will be guessing.
Though you are kind and helpful,You are no longer in your prime.
Your looks withered away at the mercy of time.
Though you are half what you used to be,
You still flutter through the water, graceful as ever.
Unsteady, but light as a feather.
You are rigid as the mountains,
As awe-inspiring as the sun,
Bystanders stare, their mouths falling agape in unsion.
Everyone wants to know your story,
And you are not shy to tell.
You will tell of the pain and misfortune,
But you will speak of riches and beauty as well.
~ Diana I.
You are past your time
More shriveled than a pruned finger
You dive-bomb your motionless siblings below
How did you die?
Did you figure it out? Both poems are about a leaf. Good job!