A measuring tape

In the quiet of my cluttered space,

a measuring tape rests, a ghost in place.

Faded numbers tell tales of my past,

how far I’ve come, how long it will last.

Old friends ask how I measure change,

with inches of time feeling far too strange.

I unfurl the tape, it snaps, it bends,

each mark a reminder of what life lends.

Measuring hope with a threadbare line,

where dreams once soared, now just a sign.

In this soft rustle, I hear the call,

how life can stretch, how we can fall.