Without

 They say youth possesses

an endless reservoir

of energy, a token

of innocence

and un-couthness

charms alive and once,

twice, thrice, abundant chances

to make mistakes

in those years of fecundity

and debauchery.

 

Another gift of youth is time,

And it’s on our side

a meritorious pal,

witness to our growth from mal-

nourished in love and its notions

to a connoisseur of love and its potions

of affection; towards society

although some of us can’t tell yes from no

while others live in involuntary piety

But both have not the object that runs it most often than not

and that is dollar bills

 

That milling workers spill

only in their mid-thirties, when

wallets grow wings and

time runs thin

while energy…

well, is hopefully sky-high.

 

Unlike, later while

life’s vitals

run a death march

an inverse of youth, when

pockets and bank accounts

grow heavy with long years

of restraint, of iron chains

and blind folds for dreams

left unseen, maimed

not dared to be disclosed

senility arrives

knocking at the door

 

and there’s but one security guard

 

in this carousal of life

there is a fourth rather

obscure feature,

a key component amiss

that deserves a space

in this Hall of Fame

and that is the possession of depth

tightly intertwined with curiosity

at its core-consciousness

the brainchild of self-awareness

at the heart of energy

that gives direction to time

or stills

it at will?

 

The very elastic band that

brings us back in shape

when disaster strikes, meanwhile

youthful beauty, energy, money and time

pale in front of this

conscious depth that lifts a human from

solid rock bottom in

every age, shape, and colour

 

to seek within on how to learn to live without.