It only reveals itself after it's gone–
In the colors of rotting fruit, in the portrait of the dying.
In a photograph or a broken bauble.
It typically shows itself in the weary faces of the several-times-married.
It was in conversation with him that I suddenly realized–
He too was not oblivious to this fact.
Someone as aware as I am of what we're losing right now.
He in particular knows the feeling better than I, I'm sure of it,
Sometimes I can still see the outline of his youth,
A faded crease in time..
Youth, a mere thumbprint now.
It comes when he's caught in-between actions:
Looking up, sitting down, shifting his eyes, walking through doorways.
It shows in a certain thoughtful expression or when he stands up tall.
Youth is a neverending escapee, an eternal bandit.
For some it's best forgotten, for others it was the height of their life.
Youth, the time of eternal Spring.
And it's going, going, going, going–
And it's gone.