Fading Glory

In the spring I was a hungry scholar, caged ambition chained to life's cold machines, striving to grow more vigorous, taller, prepared to succeed by most any means. On the cusp of summer, I make amends, forgiving myself for lapses and loss, pretending the actions my being spends, are worth something more than transient dross. I cannot fool you if I can't convince, myself that fair destiny holds her hand, aloof, that somehow this game will make sense, that I can someday take pride in my stand. O dazzling spring, I could be anything! O summer, how humble the anthem I sing. 14 August 2016