Aging
Nature ages like Youth,
a bougainvillea wrapped
around a strapless watch.
Youth doesn’t look at the clock
but ignores passing hours unknowing,
innocent of the melting water.
It leaps and lunges without fear of a fading silhouette,
it smiles with missing teeth,
gaps filled with dreams that will change.
Youth giggles at the simplest of movements,
it blanches under praise -
it drifts along shores, feeling hearing holding then
abandoning the flotsam and jetsam of aging. It is a bundle of
yesterday’s plans
ostracised by calendars,
unaware that friends will leave, as
trenches are dug by
hands, wrinkled.
Youth is a promise milked into creams,
it is a sweating desire to return, rediscover the
suppleness of joints, of bones, of possibility.
Youth has not yet become a mouth that sighs,
is bougainvillea still free from being entwined, twisted and tied.
It is not yet conscious of time as an intangible abstract
forever
Copyright © Thomas Harrison | Year Posted 2019
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