Poetry

To Be Young, Again

Age it is said is never old

never grow up, to never grow cold

everything eventually dries up and turns to dust

it is said it is a must

life starts gradually slowing

till the heart stops eventually beating

I wonder if this must be the truth

why can't I hang onto my youth

why is it a fleeting thing

always it is parting

I would love to believe I will never grow old

is that too straightforward, is that too bold

one day I know it will be my turn

just pack me away in a shiny urn

put me on a fireplace mantel

oh the stories about me everyone will tell

will they really know of my personal hell

these are the remains of me

of  someone who once be.