POETRY

The Best Is Yet To Come

I know what it is to lose something dear,

to have loved and cherished a thing

and still not call it my own.

I know what it is to suffer, if only for a little bit,

to suffer for want of something and never obtain it,

or worse yet, obtain it, and then suffer its insufficiency.

I know what it is to long for a place and never get there

Or worst yet, get there, and feel my loneliness still.

I know what it is to achieve a goal, to wear the gold medal,

to miss the podium entirely.

 

I've become an expert in the patterns of myself;

Of habit and vice, of routine and slumber.

For every high, its low. For every gain, its loss.

And even though

I am passing away from this earth

It is a freedom to be found out for the imposter I am;

to be found wanting for more,

to be exposed for sadness deep within,

And at the very end of it all

still believe the best is yet to come.