If I should wake up and be free
of all the people watching me
and say goodbye to tightrope walking,
big top, and calliope––
then would I search the silence deep,
embrace the parts of me that sleep,
let go of cotton candy dreams,
and hold to truth that I can keep.
So many moments to love in this life,
so many unrecognized pleasures.
Whenever the world puts a lock on your hope,
break it open and set free the treasures……
I never felt strong stirrings
about angels in the past.
Their role for me was limited
and, by me, rashly cast.
To grow old is indignity and privilege, all in one.
The exercise is riddled with confusion.
Age lends a certain gravitas, when all is said and done.
And yet, how much is real…how much illusion?
Youth greets life with a blank slate and a hardy constitution,
eager for every trip around the sun.
Years fill the slate but oversee the body’s dissolution,
and all the wisdom garnered is hard-won.
Given the choice, would old folks take life on another run…
in search, perhaps, of greater resolution?
Or does knowing how it all might end before it has begun
make do-overs a dubious solution?
It seem the best course is straight-on, toward a bright conclusion.
Look gently on the tale your life has spun.
Don’t yield the field to wounds or worn-out chassis. That’s collusion.
To-finish-well may well be to-have-won.
∞§∞
If this poem resonated with you, you might also enjoy reading
Growing Old Gracefully.
I fill up notebooks with my pen
to mourn you, son…again…again.
The lasting loss, the hollow heart,
the ache of living far apart.
We came here every year
for years and years.
It was our jam.
We’re gathered here again
at last, but now
you’re on the lam.
Gray waves, pounding on the shore,
give shelter to this mother’s roar
of anguish. You are here no more.
Small white crosses dot green grasses,
children who will play no more.
Bright-eyed boys and lively lasses,
robbed of all life held in store.