You and Your Youth
He dwelt, he pondered, he thought for a while,
A smiling elder, older than his youth’s own smile.
Those pictures reminded him of his younger stockpile,
His dreams were bigger — hunger was his style.
But regret drained him, pain washed him thin,
Laundering his will, plundering within,
And now his unsung tone revealed just one note —
“If only I could reclaim the time I never bought.”
He closed away this very text, and looked upon it —
“Time I have,” he thought.
But once, even Time remarked —
“I am the destroyer of all dreams sought.
Nothing is lost, but nothing is what it seems,
He who wastes me becomes my theme.”
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