Wisdom’s, Patience

His earlier years wrote themselves in haste,
Margins crowded with borrowed maps,
Hourglasses turned too often to notice
That time was not an enemy—only a tutor.

He built a world once from permission,
Walls raised of expectations not his own.
Color arrived late, but when it came
It stayed—deepened—learned its use.

Age loosened the grip of fear.
What once demanded certainty
Now an invited experiment.
The body slowed; the vision widened.

He understood at last:
Reality was never found.
It was composed—
Sentence by sentence, risk by chosen risk.

Where youth sought proof,
Years offered perspective.
Mistakes became teachers
That did not repeat themselves.

Energy changed its voice.
No longer loud, but persistent.
A quiet engine fed by meaning,
By curiosity unexhausted.

He stood at thresholds he once ignored—
Unpaid passions, untaken roads,
Adventures postponed until someday
Now calling by name.

And he answered.

Not to conquer,
But to participate.
Not to prove worth,
But to remain alive.

Each risk taken now
Carried less fear than gratitude.
The future shrank,
Yet grew infinitely richer.

Thus wisdom revealed its secret:
Life elongates not by years alone,
But by daring—
By continuing to author the world
Even as the ink thins.

And so he walks on,
Not younger,
But true r,
Carrying forward the rare stamina
Of one who finally knows
The story is still being written.