Upon awakening I quote
The Scottish play. Time
Creeps from, I say, then
Interject hour to hour.
Days, I say, are too long
I, whose mornings get
Away from her, turning
The corner at noon and
Too soon becoming an after
It's afternoon and where
Has my day gone, what is
It I have done with the
Promise mornings brought
How could it be that my
Leisurely pace sucked
Away the day's breath
How could it suddenly
Be nearly two and I not
Ready to creep out to
Face the sunshine, I
Misquote the Bard again,
From day to day, time
Creeps into all my
Tomorrows. What have
My days signified
Tag Archives: #aging
Once upon a time
You pass, as one does, a
Youthful woman, was that
You, way back when being
In your twenties was real
Time for you, when walking
Coatless towards a party
Did not send shivers up
Your arm and your allies
Carried beer and you held
The pizza box, every one
In this group gleeful and
Giddy with anticipation of
A good night out. Are they
All you? Passing time past
On this Saturday street as
If yesterday can be met in
Real time, you as you were
You as you are, a weekend
Stroll into what once was
At once, once upon a time
She holds two things in one
Hand and grabs another in
Her free hand, a balancing
Act that I admire. I could
Not do that. When could I
Juggle so many things at
Once, how old was I when
I could manage what she's
Up to, how old is she now?
Tomorrow
When I was young, I looked ahead
To years I would spend facing the
Great unknowns, the unexpected.
When I was young, the future was
Not in the rearview but it loomed
Near and far. The future was just
Where I wanted it. Where it should
Loom. It was all my tomorrows. I
Loved its mystery. I anticipated
The twists and turns but did not
Know where it would lead me nor
Where I would follow. Today, the
Tomorrows may be fewer but I do
Not know what that future holds.
Now, that I am not young, I hold
The hope that the future brings a
Little closer and tighter. It will be
A surprise, I hope. Unexpected, a
Mystery lies in my tomorrows, or
Maybe if I am lucky there will be
Many mysteries. Still even now.
Hope
The tumbles of childhood,
Boo boos, and cries, and
Pick yourself ups, give way
To missteps made by the
Young, then to the slips
And falls of adulthood, and
The trips of the aging, each
Stage a level more serious,
Not always as dire as it
Seems, worrying, but still
There's the pick yourself
Up, the start all over again,
The steps are harder but
It's not all uphill or down
Mark of time
We see others age and fade,
Never holding that mirror to
Ourselves. Their youth, even
Though they are younger now
As then, than are we, dwindles,
Lost in wrinkles. Our eyes see
Only a twinkle of humor when
Looking upon ourselves. Our
Lines become us, theirs make
Them look old. We see others,
Never spying our face in the
Mirror of time passing, aging,
Fading, youth receding into a
Memory of our years gone by.
Tamara, really 