We are measured in moments,
the time it takes us to get from where
we are born to where we are meant to be,
in minutes and hours, the tickety-tock clock
with its two-handed push toward tomorrow.
We are measured in missed meetings, second
chances, heart-aches, breaks and mendings,
the handshake acceptance of fate. We are
measured in memories, the soft acid-wash
blur of skinned knees, scarred hearts, a
persistent belief in happy endings.
We are measured.
Poet's Note: Today's prompt was a list poem. I struggle whenever given structure, apparently even a structure as simple as starting each line with the same words. I did interpret this loosely and started each sentence with the same words rather than each line. Still, I'm not entirely in love with the end result...though I like pieces of it. Something to think on.