I never sought the simple.
Instead I chased the wild, winding uncertain path of youth.
Never wanting to reach the point where my well beaten, beatnik path
merged with the absoluteness of adulthood.
I mean where's the poetry in that?
There is something of strife that gives birth to beauty.
And so I lingered in the languish that is fumbling forward
with only the hope that nothing much will happen.
But the clock has conceded that the past has passed,
that the now never lasts and that the future has been forming
with a sort of quiet quickness that has slowly snuck up on me.
Without my conscious consent life has been lived,
and as I failed to flee it a new phase has found me.