We are falling from the moment we are born.
Until forty, we don’t know this.
We think we’re going forward, outward,
Growing; not understanding we are
Shrinking, no, crystalizing into the final
Jewel we are, will be, maybe. So much
Wiggle-room, so many paths, so
Endowed with timelessness!
At forty, we understand, turn,
Brace for the fall—
Realizing we haven’t jumped up—
Realizing we’ve hurtled ourselves toward our doom—
Realizing falling’s inevitability:
We thought we’re responsible!
We acknowledge falling, but abstractly:
“There’s plenty of time!”
Our sixties—a.k.a. When Our Parents Die—we
See the barrier against which we all
Crash. We understand: not only
Didn’t we start anything,
We won’t be able to
End it, either.
These moments of clearer revelation,
Shorn of pretense (hopefully),
Our backs against the wall of our
Inexcusable behavior, our
Youthful ‘revelations’, our
Moments we thought were heart-rending,
Our happiness we thought
Aimless or purposeful existence, regardless,
Brought us here,
To this place where
Time is short—
Dreams are ending—
Fruition MUST occur or
Be buried forever while we
Begin to plant ourselves in the ground—
Then…then…we see clearly what can be done,
And what can’t, and
We do it.
Or we don’t.
As it always was!
As it can be!
It’s our best/worst time,
Happiness. Fear. Resignation.
Our diamond-quest involves vast pressure.
Let it come, let it come.
Add color, sparkle, luminescence—
They mean something:
To yourself, to
Those who wait, to
Those who follow, and again,