Wasted years What do they look like? Can you show in a picture? He nodded to himself as he thought about it Of course who other than him to know what wasted years look like After 45 years spent inside a box he was qualified to judge. And it wasn’t even prison. It was the office. Accounting. 45 years And today... Today he was the 65-year-old photographer who raised the camera before the mirror and snapped a selfie and said “I am wasted years.”
wasted years in a picture
Daydreaming as a profession 
Nice blog
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Aw, thank you
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👏👏👏
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“the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
Thoreau
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(◉-◉) Indeed
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“It’s all the wasted years, so close behind”🙂 The lyric from that Sunday Morning song came to my mind..
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ᕕ(⌐■_■)ᕗ ♪♬
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Dear me! This is powerful!
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(◉⩊◉) Thank you
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Wonderful poem… In the old days when I was young a camera was a box too.
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Thank you 🙂
Indeed, I guess the problem is not so much about living in a box but about not being able to choose what box you’d like to live in.
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😀Nice
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I really like your blog, it’s awesome 😎 👏🏼
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/\_/\
(=’ ᴗ’ ) thank you
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Brilliant — I’ve got a few more years to reach 65 and I hope I won’t come to the same conclusion as in this poem.
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No worries ⊂(◉‿◉)つ
Long as you follow your passion you’ll be just fine 🙂
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Bravo! Very poetic indeed and true! Loved it, Efrona
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Many thanks, Efrona (^_^)
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I feel this
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Thanks, Maggie (^_^)
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xo
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Wow this is so beautiful. Unfulfillment is such a drag especially when we settle instead of thriving.
Nice one, Doc
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Thank you ( ͡° ᴥ ͡°)
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I feel the exact same way and I am a not a photographer. Just a poet who comments on the human condition. Excellent poem!!
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Thank you 🙂
And hope you’re doing well ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
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Great metaphor!
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Thank you 🙂
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Very nice work. We can’t help being put in a box or category by others. Even my avatar is “me” in a box. (visually) We ourselves chose whether or not we live a life of conformity for “reasons”, social, financial, love or passion. Life of non-conformity (outside the box) is rare. Political dissidents, malcontents, openly Gay people and artists marching to the beat of a different drum are to name but a few enigmatic types. A waste? Now that’s a very subjective perspective. No fear? No regrets? Mmmmm. In the end you die, and they put you in a box, or an urn. Love your blog.
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Thank you, Alex (^‿^)
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The irony is very touching. Anand Bose from Kerala
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Thank you, Anand •ᴗ•
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