Birth Days

birth days no longer reside inside
my memories, my enclosed haven
the original me could not be found
only a faint image of myself
my doppelganger sits in unused waiting stations
is she me? or am I her?

time opens new exits
to the same place
birthday wishes reverse themselves
going back to the stars
the years still unlive, unburied

am I to be reborn as my other self?
where will I end up?
watching the bright lights everywhere
I wait for my turn


Pen Me A Poem Poetry Prompt: Birth

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Pen Me A Poem said...

When reading the second stanza, I had the visualisation in my mind of life suddenly shooting backwards, like in one of those rewinding video moments. Or like the films showing the seasons of the year coming and going within a few seconds, except in reverse. You're excellent imagery and way of putting this across can only be commended.

Memories tend to end up like photographs, but often distorted by what we choose to add or subtract from what really took place. You've hinted at this in the first section. I think that's excellent.

The final questions. Ones we would all like to know and something for the reader to take away with them. This poem certainly leaves a footprint. Very well written!

By the way, I like your quotation choices. Both the works of Beckett and Aurelius being extremely fascinating, if not highly depressing in the former's case.

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“The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.”
Marcus Aurelius (Roman emperor, best known for his Meditations on Stoic philosophy, AD 121-180)