A reflection on aging and becoming…
‘Tis alway a (the) temptation
to (want to) revisit, restore
that time afore (that then-time);
to see (to be) my younger (better? best?) self
before the changes wrought by chance and by circumstance,
and, yes, by my (not all so grand) choices…
when flesh raged with vigor, fatigue, a stranger, sight, undimmed and all horizons, nigh;
not as now, my earthly tent frayed by aging’s daily decay.
when potential was untouched, untapped (and presumed inexhaustible);
not, as now, in too many times past, squandered in vain pursuits (and unrecoverable).
when daydreams were the sterling-currency of hope’s exchange;
not, as now, many transfigured as nightmarish specters (as close as next-thought) of my failures.
when questions were bright, sunlit avenues of discovery;
not darkened paths dead-ending into pitiless barricades of ambiguity.
when first-loves were s’pposed to be forever;
not thresholds to earliest regret;
when life’s-end was afar off (and unimaginable),
not today’s wholly conceivable awareness of sooner-than-later death.
Ah, at times, I’d love to revisit, restore my yesterdays.
Alas, ‘tis not possible to fall prey to such temptation, save in recollection,
for only in this-time canst I live,
This surest-truth summons daily
that I embrace, embody (having become and becoming still) me.