Hindsight

It was during his winter and before his expiration When he bade me to come sit beside him. In between the sounds of a life, enforced, Those machines were all that controlled The course of his blood. Soon enough, he said, I will return to my source, But for now, listen to me. In love, I failed. In life, I sailed Across the sea. I did what I pleased Because my measure of life was in the ocean breeze, Each second a dram, Each hour a bottle of whatever the barkeep had. Ever since I was a lad, I sought adventure. The path ahead was my only treasure. My shovel broke the earth and wherever it landed, I planted seed, But I never stood by to watch them grow. I never thought of death or let anything else restrain me. Freedom was my only need. But a path with no destination is an endless spiral And its meandering route only A diversion from the monotony For what is such freedom, but distraction without a goal? What the old man wants is What the young man refused. Choose, or one day be alone. You will plant me in the earth soon enough, He said, And rudder your way through a choppy sea. Find your path and enjoy the road. Break the earth with your shovel, And don’t fear the acceptance of some of the load. Take the path, but read the signs, And know when it’s time to stop for a while. But what the young man denied Is what the old man chooses. And yet we are all hypocrites, Even in that.