Openings in greyish skies never seem hopefull,
These bottomless ponds between islands of clouds,
No one should want to get lost out there.

At night at least there are stars,
Down here the lights of cars keep moving.
When all is dark, we are lost so we feel

As then, in the black of eternity
We are ourselves too much, we then know
Whom we have become, that we should be adults now

But already a flickering of neon,
A buoy to reassure us chases off the hungry bears
So we breathe on, relieved. Children once more.


Comments on: "Ageing" (2)

  1. One does not often see ‘greyish’ in a poem! Here’s another one to make me think.

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