You'll have to forgive me;
I've begun to move slower
in my older age.
No longer am I filled with fire
and the willingness to set aflame
all that is around me.
Now I am of rumbling, slow-burning
coals,
the type of which men cast
swords passed down through the ages.
Love to me is no longer a
keen sting --
nor do I want it to be --
but instead it is a soft dedication
expressed through an intermittent presence,
not through flowery acts or syllables.
I do not move so fast now.

From twenty to twenty-four,
only four short and long years,
but much have they taught,
and much have I listened
and much have I not.
But I am more careful now
in the affairs of life and love.
Not so quick to destroy,
but much quicker to understand.
Most times,
but I'm still learning
slowly
that when you know anyone enough
you will reveal your humanity
and they, too, will reveal theirs.
And I would rather have mine understood
than judged
as would we all
so I take my time,
I do my best to understand
and not to judge.

Sometimes things take awhile,
so I move slowly these days.
Forgive me.