Pouring cement

The mind has this pernicious tendency
To pour cement around our weakest moments
In an attempt to immortalize them
As if to lay the foundation of a monument
To who we will always be
As though it were our greatest benefit
To be anchored to our lowest points in this life,
Forever bound to our mistakes.
Or maybe the wet cement is hurled
At heights of our achievements,
Living and re-living moments of glory
As though every other moment since
Doesn’t matter.
Perhaps one great thing about
Being made of flesh and bone
Is that it cannot we cannot be hardened
To a single space in time-
We are living and breathing,
Always moving on
Always moving in,
Never truly stagnant
Or set in stone

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