Many speak of the path ahead
The road not yet traveled
The bright future still folded
But what of the path behind?
How do you measure a day
If you have no other days?
Focused only on the future way,
How do you measure a year, a life?
Perhaps the future is a tyranny
An unopened box were we can place
All the things we should do
But have not, only hoping we will embrace
I fear the box that becomes full
Stacked up like damaged toys
Tired of waiting for you to fix them
Their eyes an accusation of broken joys
Maybe if I ponder my achievement
I could judge myself on things done
Lists of people and places,
Milestones reached and awards won?
So, are the days a true measure of us?
Are we just our resumes and stories,
The albums of photos, glimpses of who we were,
The shelved trophies reflecting past glories?
Or in the end,
Should we measure ourselves
By how much we loved,
the joy we gave and all our losses?