Thursday, September 30, 2010

Bright Eyes

Age pities the child
with bright eyes
bluely born, in sight of death's eve;
The End, birthing beginning.

Do they feel replaced,
these, souls withdrawn?

Place reincarnated,
spaced, in decades-
old lines; wrinkled contentment
finds no regrets; rather,

Relief like a sigh, exhaled, slowly seen
expirated in a breath, on a cold autumn morning
finally,
falling
Up.

1 comment:

  1. Nice poem.
    I find that as I age I don't long to be a child again and as I look into the blue eyes of youth I do pity them. The pity comes from the knowledge and wisdom gained from living a long life here on earth and knowing that their innocence will be quickly lost and corrupted.
    We do feel like our children replace us. We hope that they will carry the stories and tales of our lives into the future. We don't want to be forgotten.
    But when life starts to expire and our bodies cry out with the pains of old age, we are indeed ready to sigh and sigh no more. UP yes that is where I hope to be.

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