To Be Young, To Be Old, To Be Gone

January 23, 2012
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A slip of paper sits, quivering, in the grass.
What it contains is impossible to read.
It flutters in the breeze, but feels secure,
then all of a sudden, it is gone.

Where did it go? So fast, so unexpected.
Like a mysterious note, away flies my childhood.
I never guessed that it would leave,
and I realized too late that it was gone.

A child, innocent and pure,
sits in his sandbox, while his dinos partake in a battle.
His world is all flowers and sunshine,
he has no idea of the quickness of life.

Five years of life have passed,
filled with videogames and war movies.
He doesn’t see how time is flying by him,
not yet- not for awhile.

The young woman sits, her face to the mirror,
covering her speckled cheeks with even-colored paint.
In herself she just sees imperfections,
and wonders how to fix them.

The first grey hair appears on her head,
a warning that years are passing.
Creases are appearing around her eyes,
telling tales of happy times.

Only when wrinkles have creased her face,
and years of experience enlightened her
does it cross her mind that youth has escaped her--
that it is gone forever.

Young hearts long for the experience of age--
to be independent, to be free.
Aged hearts long for the simplicity of youth--
to be carefree, to be wild.

To be young, to be old, to be gone.

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