In growth we hurt, our spirits bruised
Oftentimes we feel misused
We cling to wisps of better times
They fade away, we cry our rhymes
Innocence is what we plead
To run from our maturity.

when I ask myself
what I am
I am not sure I know the answer

a ‚mature‘ man
of 70 plus

grandpa
of 11 grandchildren

yesterday‘s
person of authority

mentor for young ones
still looking for themselves

all of the above
or none of it

in the end only those
who read these lines
decide

I cannot hide in my fortress,
this cloak has fallen,
and in it's place,
stands my barren feelings,
here in this puddle,
is the lost of my innocence..