I think, perhaps, that I
may have been born for a different time
Maybe my soul rested too early
On an infant never meant to be me.
I look around, and it seems so strange,
People dig for shallow ore; I seek a deeper vein-
but those who skim the surface are rewarded
It seems like all my hopes are thwarted
by our reality, such a subtle thing,
that defines who we are by how we gleam
with gold and glitter, all so transient-
I think friends and memories are more significant
Everyone calls accepting this reality "growing older"
So you become less of yourself? Get lost in folders
and numbers and binders and paper; and days
are slipping by, as you're getting paid
For what? To own a house you never see?
Drive a nice car to a place you hate to be?
NO.
No, I say, this is a better solution:
NEVER. GROW. UP. That's my resolution.
****. Fight. Dream. While you're still young, retire.
Throw all your junk out and set it on fire.
Move to a place that you've never been.
Make friends, fall in love, and then do it again.
Never get settled; never set down your roots;
always try the new, and I tell you the truth-
You'll find you live richly with far less wealth,
and your life will have meaning-one you gave it yourself.