Wasted Youth
Listen to the sound of youth outside -
They have more spirit than I ever did,
Than I ever dared to dream of having,
Yet I am barely beyond their years:
Not that you could tell from my weary disposition.
What happened to me that I am so unbold that I shrink away in my tomb
Of flickering lights in darkened rooms,
Living out my life as if already in the winter of existence?
Am I to remain such an aged soul,
Lost and elderly when I am still so young?
So ghostly am I that I pass by unseen, not even a whisper of my name on their lips,
Not to ever be a part of their world.
I am a breeze on their uncovered skin,
Their brazen, raucous laughter a ringing in my deaf ears
And my life a feeble candle light amidst their roaring flames.
I am old beyond my years, it seems,
Passing on the brave new worlds they deign to discover because there is
No novelty for me there.
No, I have seen too much with these aching eyes to want more;
I have no spirit to spend on frivolity because it is already spent in spades.
Let me be old and linger and be weary,
Let it be my cross to bear
For their time will come, and it will hit them harder than it ever did me.
They have more spirit than I ever did,
Than I ever dared to dream of having,
Yet I am barely beyond their years:
Not that you could tell from my weary disposition.
What happened to me that I am so unbold that I shrink away in my tomb
Of flickering lights in darkened rooms,
Living out my life as if already in the winter of existence?
Am I to remain such an aged soul,
Lost and elderly when I am still so young?
So ghostly am I that I pass by unseen, not even a whisper of my name on their lips,
Not to ever be a part of their world.
I am a breeze on their uncovered skin,
Their brazen, raucous laughter a ringing in my deaf ears
And my life a feeble candle light amidst their roaring flames.
I am old beyond my years, it seems,
Passing on the brave new worlds they deign to discover because there is
No novelty for me there.
No, I have seen too much with these aching eyes to want more;
I have no spirit to spend on frivolity because it is already spent in spades.
Let me be old and linger and be weary,
Let it be my cross to bear
For their time will come, and it will hit them harder than it ever did me.
♠ ♠ ♠
I always hark on about being old before my time, and these days I feel it more than ever.