A Yorkshire Poet Poet Free verse

Behind the gate

In the days before the fall.
When plump skin felt the sun — so fair, so warm.
Sparkling, innocent stares of wonderment
for new galactic worlds imagined when minds could run.

When night and day still governed time.
When a spider’s web holding morning dew
could simply blow your mind.
When joy was made from nothing at all —
those were the days before the fall.

But time never stops, and life bears its weight
on weakened backs that linger behind their gate.
Freedom laughs at us — fools of aged life,
too far down the track to care or mind.

Yet memory holds its scenes inside:
feeling snow without consequence or grind,
jumping walls, climbing trees
without lost breath or straining knees.

So in the days of our fall —
innocence gone once and for all —
steadied stares with cautious eyes,
weary bodies aging unlike fine wines;
knowing your tomorrows won’t count like your yesterdays,
you walk through life and feel your age.

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