Friday, January 1, 2016


Oh ever I am young again
Emerging shall I speak in Zen
To no one who is over ten
I wish that I would know just when

As bubbles, unicorns and aces
All assume respective places
Perhaps I’ll recognize their faces
When they return to sacred spaces

Lost within my past it seems
Are more than childhood’s withered dreams
Worn and frayed about their seams
Suffused with golden light that gleams

Whence I forgot to be just me
Now starts my quest to be set free
To smell the roses
Neath my tree

True, there is no going back
I can’t replace the self I lack
Instead I’ll capture each delight
And keep them in my tattered sack

You can’t grow wise
You can’t grow old
You can’t grow memories
You can hold

So wishy worries now and then
I’m learning to speak Zen

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