It sucks getting old. Yeah, but you have wisdom, don’t you know.
Perhaps but wisdom is the bane of my golden age, don’t you know.
The Bane of My Golden Age
As the years fall fast
As I grow, mature and wise
As my mind reflects, and my eyes observe
As my sense and sensibilities crash
How I long for lost and youthful years
Of bygone ways and carefree days
Such wonderment and happiness,
And bewilderment with absent fears
Oh, youthful waste
That mantle of recklessness, unmitigated risk
Such restlessness caught in my nature’s truth
Of a life so sweet, like a nectar’s taste
I yearn for a dear adrenalin rush
But fear and hide and cower thus
As excitement breeds its voice in me
I brush aside with knowledge, crushed
To live and breathe to life obsessed
To grasp at life’s best gift, dear youth
No worried fears or wayward tears
Just laughter at such foolishness
Oh, those youthful days not valued much
To a young and restless soul
Why oh why does my knowledge cry
To question such a foolish touch
My age brings knowledge and wisdom’s strength
And reflection’s pure judgmental fear
Yet shy from nature’s gift of a life to live
Without the worry and consequential lengths
Now, for wisdom’s pure and complex stage
It is wisdom’s curse for all who say:
“How youth is wasted on the young”
Perhaps, but wisdom is the bane of my golden age.
Poem comes from an analogy of poems I wrote over the years. Little Poems from the Great White North. Available through Amazon.
Gee, and after all is said and done I can go out and have a game of this:
Too cruel.
Or a new TV or Netflix production appropriately titled: