Between the wax and wane,
naivety dawns to wisdom,
adventure turns to vigilance,
as we're caught,
caged in responsibility.

It’s as if we're cursed by a caesura
of neither feeling youth's freedom
nor the peaceful surrender to old age,
just victims to our day to day routines.

Oh, we remember our youthful play
and tell those tails with boastful joy,
as we make grander plans for tomorrow
hoping it will be better than our today.

Its here we bid farewell to our mothers
and understand the plight of our fathers,
as we write eulogies for the friends we lost
and come to the realize love is not forever.

Yet, in this pause our minds' whisper to us
in the innocent voice we spoke in our dawn
mixed with the foreshadowed tone of our dusk,
that somehow the noon is indeed the finest hour.

For its here that our youth's dream are realized,
shared with those we are now responsible to,
its here that our children change our names
as we treasure their dreams above our own.  


© Joey Jones