The moments of my youth have been replaced by the hours of maturity;
I can feel the days slipping, converging on the years of aged aeons,
pressing on headlong toward the decades of amenable existence.
The callow caprices of old fade unto cold rationality, and take with them the eyes of inexperience which saw only in shades of black and white, but viewed the world without reservation, without stipulation, and were not afraid to believe consummately or to act with conviction.
Today’s eyes are shaded by the inconsiderable daily details of life: we don’t have time to think in these old terms of black and white because gray abstracts and facts and figures obscure so may of our ideals.
I am convinced
This is what they want . . .
insquequo deinde
~93
1 comments:
Pulchritudinous as always. In poetry, and in prose.
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