For the first half of your life, people tell you what you should do; for the second half, they tell you what you should have done. ~ Richard Needham
They call it middle age; what was old age
In Middle Ages, margins moved along.
Forty cinches wasted youth, not the song
One won’t forsake nor can’t foresee the gauge.
Yet such as we still count ourselves, we’re young;
As long as flesh forbears and wit and heart
Command the conscious choice, a second start;
Eyes on fate, our arts’ best efforts flung.
This is time’s prime, the part to shrink or grow.
Some let it go as midriff oft expand,
Content the best behind them, or regret.
We malcontents mad scramble to bestow
Such gifts as make the mark our dreams demand,
Leave something of ourselves we’d not forget.
We so often see what we've missed in our life -- rarely how it all ads up to the total being we are right now, and that all of our experience -- nothing lost, all of it contributes to what we're doing today, and how we do it. And yes, we're young, cause nothing's over till the fat lady sings, as they say in the theater. I'm a true believer. As usual, a finely crafted piece of work. Thank you, Helga, for sharing this morsel with us (young ones).
Imogene, a country-bred girl, longs to make a life for herself in New York City. She joins forces with her former college roommate to start a movie production company in the big city.
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
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Cheerio!
JMD
Such gifts as make the mark our dreams demand,
Leave something of ourselves we’d not forget."
Uh-hunh, yup, you got it...absolutely. An especially well-written and intelligent poetic cogitation!
Carmen :-)