Life is odd,

Or so I say.

The way it changes,

Day by day.

 

The best years had,

Are in our youth.

We are resilient,

And bullet proof.

 

As time marches on,

Reminders kick in.

That life is short,

And death will win.

 

Middle age is the wedge,

Parting the past and yet done.

You’re forced to rethink,

What you once thought was fun.

 

Your blood is now coffee,

As you sail your second wind.

Suppressing the thought,

Of when it may end.

 

Blink, you’re now there.

The years made of gold.

Tears of pain and pleasure,

From the memories you hold.

 

Old age is a blessing,

So many won’t get.

We finally find wisdom,

Forgiving sins, no regret.

 

We arrive at the doorstep,

We’ve reaped what we’ve sewn.

How odd, that is, life,

Borrowed time, on God’s loan.

 

By Redbud Patriot

Leave a Reply