After a lengthy hiatus due to the responsibilities of adulthood, we return with a poetry post. I've been feeling worn down by the daily grind of life lately, and in an effort to spur my creativity, decided to take a stab at the occasional poem whenever the mood struck.
One evening a few weeks ago, I was playing with my dog in the backyard and enjoying the cooler weather, when I glanced at the neighbors' dilapidated shed and was struck at how worn down things can become in life and yet still remain standing, serving their purpose and fulfilling their function. I believe the same is true of us humans, and I was lifted by the thought. Determining our purpose or function may be a touch more difficult, but that's a post for another time.
The poem is unstructured and free verse.
→The Old Red Barn
We stand in the shadow of the old red barn. It’s decrepit, no, that’s too mean. It’s withered.
The ages have taken their toll on it as they do on all things. But still it stands, sometimes quavering in the wind, sometimes sagging in the snow, but upright.
One day soon it may collapse, I don’t know. Perhaps when the wood has rotted completely from the inside the paint will hold it together still.
Are we not also just patchworks, held together through the years by our accumulated experiences? Someday soon we will fall, but the old red barn’s time has not yet come.
