Passport To Life

He waits patiently in queue,

dreaming dreams of all his

yesterdays gone by, and

taking little note of all around him.

But the queue moves on,

and he nears his destination as,

finally, he comes out in front.

Fumbling in his pocket

for the necessary papers,

that tell those, who need to know,

precisely what’s gone on,

he reaches out with shaky hand

to give his passport over,

to a stranger in a uniform of grey.

His uniform of grey feels tight,

as though shrunk in the wash,

but he knows that’s not the case.

So he takes a sip again

of a rich and creamy drink,

then turns and takes the passport

of an old and dreamy man

who, with shaky hand,

and saddened smile,

holds out to him his life and,

with impatient sighs,

grey uniform looks down,

glancing briefly at the passport.

The passport smells of age,

and hope, of musty paper,

and forgotten dreams.

It speaks of many yesterdays,

with little of tomorrows,

and cuts a path

in the future roads,

which join so much of life.

It tells tall tales, like Aesop,

of its mysteries and dreams.

But its pages also tell the tale

of life, writ large

in Angel’s eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written 02/06/2011. Published in Poetry.com, 2013.

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