By Eunie Jeong

Each day,

Each part of existence a synecdoche

Of life

A silver bracelet on your wrist.

The softened shine.

Intricately worked, beads of sleepy stars...

But with no attention turning dull black,

Blacker than your pencil lead splintering on paper.

Not worthy enough to show to others.

Only shines again

By patience and cleaning,

To once more adorn you.

Jewels of talent fade in time, 

but can be regained

Through careful toil.

Stacks of unused notebooks.

Each with the determined first page

A earnest title for a clean start-

Ending up in nothing finished.

They say well begun is half done,

But half done may be all you ever reach.

Opportunities of life

Eagerly taken and never finished,

To become anything meaningful

Or anything lasting, other than to look at on your 

bookshelf of memories in later years

With regret

Colourful kites.

Whirling, twirling in the wind of inspiration

Among falcons.

It raises its powerful frame.

Only held by the taunt string of reason.

It begs with each tug:

To be freed from fragile borders.

But without them? Are they the limitations

For discovery and dreams?

Or the orange beacons in the waves

Keeping us from flying far away,

From reality

Each day,

Each part of existence a synecdoche

Of life