no time for youth
it was time, I suppose, to shed endearments
and favored names,
the renderings of which are lost
to engagements of living;
it was time, but I can't remember why,
and doubtful you recall at all.
aging requires shedding not just childhood,
but child-nature, hence the berm ridges
in forehead texture.
those valleys represent growth, it's said,
presaging death,
a serious matter we must ordain, but
it is time, I suppose for growing serious and old,
while my child-nature searches its womb,
waiting to be born again before
that one, final engagement
in life.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
2 hours ago
I love this. It reeks of nostalgia, for the things we have lost. You do know Rick, this is something one cannot write if he or she has undergone the sorrows of life.
ReplyDeleteAnd I suspect, something one wouldn't understand either.
I wonder what prompted these thoughts. I hope you are well sir.
Kane
These last two poems combined is a perfect example of what makes you a 'cut above'. WOW!
ReplyDeleteI have felt these words before, but never has sadness been so beautiful.