I am perplexed 
as a child 
I was filled 
with awe and 
wonder but now 
at this age 
skepticism and fear
how does life 
turn how does 
curiosity curdle or
wilt rarely ever 
to blossom again 
is it things
is it hurt
or is it 
that the downward 
slope is always 
the slipperiest and 
the uphill climb 
the most daunting 

And today I’m 
as light as
the dust left
behind by a
moths delicate wings
no impression just 
a dry mist 
of a once 
soft quiet landing 
nary a sound 
the same as
those of angels 

I no longer 
miss or long
for some things 
lost are gone 
the place that 
they held filled 
forever by someone 
or anything else 
we do that 
you know find
fill or cover 
lest we forget 
and fall again 
back into the 
very hole of 
our own making 
crawling out once 
is bad enough 
for most people 
it is me

The lines
that frame 
the face
are nothing 
more than 
trails marked 
through the 
very jungles 
of life 
showing that
one has 
indeed lived 
and been 
there before