ramblings and things
1,019,432 poems read
The days pass quickly now,
Nothing seems urgent any more,
So much more relaxing
Than ever it was before.
All my battles now are wars of words,
Mapping out those friendly verbal scuffles;
A tide of words as though flowing across a
Lake whose surface the wind gently ruffles.
And passes on.
The battles of my youth,
When raw ideals
Those passionate ideals
Now seem so unreal.
Did I take that stand,
Prepared to fight,
For what I thought was right.
For that day, at least.
Did I really love in such hot blood,
Tossing the memory of every caress
To be quickly savoured and lost,
As though youth couldn't care less,
And now to be recalled fondly;
Times of passion, turmoil, strife,
All these years later
At the other end of life.
Life is not wasted on the young.
It is just a building process to record
And keep memories to fondly recall,
Memories to keep a body warm at the
inevitable approach to the end of it all.
This is why old men smile
At the follies of youth
Knowing in time
They too will learn that truth,
Bought at a price,
That in life's battles
It is a victory just to survive
And the spoils of that war
Are just to stay alive,
To indulge in battles of words,
To sit and rerun through closed eyes
The highlights of an existence
That all too quickly flows and flies
And then dies.