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Flightless Old Birds

I spill ink upon a most sadden page
life of youth was once all the rage
Good times were to readily be had
even a dull day was not all that bad
For each new morn brought renewed hope
nothing, nothing seem beyond our scope

This ink sets in its newborn form 
tired words seem to be my new norm
A whisper and a cry rarely ever call
newborn days of hope I can not recall
Why does time eat thus at my soul
when more livin' was always my goal

Looking back I see ink spilt' long ago
the energy was quick the heart aflow'
Deep energetic words jumping all about
laughter and joy always loudly rang out
Love was rampant always in the mix
secret night moves our passionate fix

O' youth why venture so far astray
yes , you just had to have it your way!

Robert J. Lindley, 2-04-2016

note: Time,  we always pray for more . 
Yet after life abundant we sometimes regret 
having had too much . For memories of our youth
beckon and shout. 
We then feel old, alone and so left out.
Then we ramble and write tired old words.
Looking to the skies as flightless old birds!

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