Life Is The Bookmark Before A Passage Of Sleep Poem by Mark Heathcote

There are passages in life.
No one should have to reread.
Rooms within a sprawling maze
only we should unadvisedly revisit.
Even only then in whispered retreating footsteps.
We all haunt a past that has no objectivity
other than to leave us alone, abandoned
with ever-worsening, superimposed regrets.
Life is the bookmark before a passage of sleep
where the leafing forefinger can discover
a new ever-changing character, a charioteer
leading the course, the pack and hasn't the time
or the inclination to look back for fear
of veering off track. It is here
We discover our true purpose and meaning
and not just a face, an empty reflection
in the primordial mirror of nothingness.
Here, we find our true selves,
ever-present and begrudgingly at times forgiving.