PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

So my age begins to mocks me,

like little gremlins prancing,

playfully delighted at my expense.

Softly aching muscles whisper small complaints.

With subtle creaks and muted groans,

meloncholy that they are no longer fleet.



Slowly I relinquish my meddlesome nowadays,

for memories richly dabbled

with sunlit flashes of summer heat.

Rowdy children entice me,

their happy shrieks compeling revelry,

asking me to join their joyous rabble.



I obey and then I dance again with fairy queens.

In fearless contemplation,

I dream of bygone passion plays,

where knights can battle fiendish foes,

and a milkmaid wins a prince's heart,

all willing subjects in my world's creation.



Then, leisurely with patience,

the present interupts my timeless fancys.

Worry and accountability, again, become the mantra of my day.

And so the weary mind, adult and all forlorn,

can only look back wistfully at those

sensual and unreal days of childhood's happy schemes.