Too Young, Too Old

Sat here again splaying the phrases

almost photographic, tapping minds

into my aged remarks letting frame

pictures grey those partitions wise,

but the room years pursuit for youth,

dragging that pen for a crayon,

drawing foetal scrawls on umbilical walls

confused written out in blind art,

too young to be theirs, too old to be mine.

ageyouth

◄ I Want To Hold It Close

The Pretender ►

Comments

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poemagraphic

Tue 31st Mar 2020 21:33

..."dragging that pen for a crayon,

drawing foetal scrawls on umbilical walls"...

OMG! Hannnah what a line, what a poem.

Talk about the writing is on the wall, I love this poem.

The older I get the more childlike I am becoming... as in I see things much more simpler and find such depth in ordinary things.

I watch my grandchildren and wonder what we are leaving them.

Leave them good poetry, such as this.

Thank you
Po

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