Sunlit waves rolling in
to cool our beating hearts
to temper loves romance
to satisfy an aging skin.
Willow trees a weeping
hanging, over the memory of a boy gone old
hiding in the shadows
things that I’d forgotten I’d forgot.
As time passes and my aching heart grows older
I find the more I shoulder, the more I find
beneath the ground of my history simply invisible
neither eating at nor gnawing me.
Nothing dark and regressed.
Just an interplay between an aging mind and that of youth.
And the surprise that age might less take than give.
PoemsofaDad 