There is no growing mad
When growing old, all we get
Is more sane and tranquil
I remember clearly though
The insane letters in my mind
How intense feelings
Once were, like the end of reason’s
Fever, or the revolution
Of identity in a lovely instant
I remember the radical monuments
Of youth, carefully concealed
Against a hostile world
My friends warn me
I have sung a song of
Too much patience
I will tell her of my love more carefully
And I do not gladly wait the years
But my cheeks gladly waited
For the woman I would marry
The years have turned to gold
That honors the time of passing
With no clear destination
The pockets of sanity are not deep
Not proud, not time-charred just normal.
A great piece. —CC
“…time-charred…”
Yes do we feel that way sometimes?
“honors the time of passing with no clear destination”
yes, that feels so real…
Thanks for reblogging this.
Beautiful writing.
Thanks as always.
“Just normal” Profoundly accurate.
Thanks Dream. 🙂