Passages

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Passing through the younger years, I never

thought or even cared about fast speeding times,

those brief glimpses of space seen through a scrim

of passion that colored everything behind it.

My middle years offered no easy trail,

divorce and madness painted different

values, clogging up the move of time and

days not seen to shift at lightning pace

Distance now, the slowing of the passing

time finds me not always willing to accept,  

not always gaining those dreams or goals

I’ve held dear as I dance around the fogs,

sprays, braces and pills remembering those

long gifts of passion and years well lived.

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OB Diarist Arbi stirred me up this week, and though I do not usually post my poems here, I thought I’d stick this up for her.  you too.   I may have to take it down later….depending if it get’s entered in a contest or not.  No one likes previously published work.