Poem – Calm

Time and age conspire
with numbers setting expectations.

You are only as old as you feel
and that depends on the body’s voice.

These things are mostly out of our control
and in youth we ignore and push limits

looking to find something beyond life
looking over the edge at the mouth of death.

As maturity and wisdom settle like
white petals upon the empty field

the pace becomes slower and immersed
with purpose and awareness

of the mouth opening wider, moving
closer as the sun edges toward the horizon.

We stop each moment and turn them
in the lantern’s light.

We see each detail and imperfection,
we admire the craftsmanship.

In the evening following the storm’s
reach we watch the black clouds pass

and the purple light through the trees
as we smell the spring wind and think of nothing.

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