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Poem

Reaching my golden age 
was an improbable, distant image...
rarely thought of, or even visualized by me,
I still cherish the fancy-free boy that was me!


My careful footsteps have become slower,
and my skin is losing its gleaming, brilliant look;
I stand before my photographs displayed underneath
the hand-painted coat of arms with a disillusioned, displeasing glare!   


Could that handsome young man be me?
His skin is so smooth and his teeth dazzling white,
lots of strands with curly hair reflecting a resplendent light...
he's smiling staring at his friend, who's kissing a girl called, "Mimi."  


And unstoppable, bitter tears relentlessly flow; why haven't
childhood and youth waited another year, or even another longest day,
to let me breath with more easiness, seeing myself once again a virile lad...
how horrible and scary is to face the merciless phantom, who will take me away!


But this faith is too strong, and I can defeat any evil force;
and although I seem unable to fight as I did when strength was mine,
an angel will escort me to the gate, which will open to greet this faithful one...
not regretting anymore that improbable, distant image retreating and fading as reality itself!
   

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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