The tempo of this flesh
is slowing down.
Noticing, the young are apt to answer with a frown.
Seasons, cycles - grown, reborn -
take a toll on every living form.
Jog down to a walk down
to a free and easy stroll.
Memories, so natural, that pleasure as they roll
through minds that dare to claim their right of age.
Accepting youth, yet being something other.
Slowing down before the rush can smother all they are.
The greater world just
cannot pass us by.
Our wisdom grows beyond the alibis.
Not to argue or to change. Not to move
or rearrange it all. Rather just to temper
all the crush of rushing youth.
Gentle now, the sun begins
to lower over us.
Yet still, we know full well that we must trust
in powers greater than a human mind can ever
really, truly know as vibrant youth.
Light and air, we breathe to dare
yet one more great adventure.
Slowly now, we turn the
here, where sunsets never end.
Dissolving, oh so slowly,
? Michaelette ?