The elders always preach, “Enjoy it while it lasts,” as if time were a candle’s flame,
Its wick approaching cessation with each hour, though the vaporized wax looks all same.
They speak of youth like a fleeting song you can hum, but can’t ever replay,
And the melody of your most cherished memories, fade with every passing, ticking, day.
“They grow up so fast,” elders sigh, as if the days were endless grains of sand in your grasp,
Folding too swiftly through unsteady fingers, each moment slipping from future to present to past.
Everyone is biased and can give useful advice, like a series of paths that speak to your gut.
Every anecdotal tale holds many truths, but it’s at your discretion which trail you choose to trust.
The child in you doesn’t measure days; it swallows them whole and forgets,
It climbs the oak without counting the branches, and leaps without fear of regrets.
You discover that the sky has its limits, when your first airplane cuts through the blue,
And you learn to ignore the world’s lobbies of expectations, in your pursuit of finding the truest you.
Adulthood arrives without warning, with a voice that is colder than stone,
Demanding the debts for the dreams you abandoned, and the seeds you never had sown.
You earn in hours bent over a desk, and late nights on a pc with the occasional grog.
Accumulating bills that you can barely pay off, with your side hustle and full-time job.
......
It begins with mornings-
a cup held warm between yor hands,
a glance across a quiet room,
the soft rhythm of ordinary hours.
You don't notice the shift,
not at first.
A season ends,
another begins,
and the familiar becomes
......
The elders always preach, “Enjoy it while it lasts,” as if time were a candle’s flame,
Its wick approaching cessation with each hour, though the vaporized wax looks all same.
They speak of youth like a fleeting song you can hum, but can’t ever replay,
And the melody of your most cherished memories, fade with every passing, ticking, day.
“They grow up so fast,” elders sigh, as if the days were endless grains of sand in your grasp,
Folding too swiftly through unsteady fingers, each moment slipping from future to present to past.
Everyone is biased and can give useful advice, like a series of paths that speak to your gut.
Every anecdotal tale holds many truths, but it’s at your discretion which trail you choose to trust.
The child in you doesn’t measure days; it swallows them whole and forgets,
It climbs the oak without counting the branches, and leaps without fear of regrets.
You discover that the sky has its limits, when your first airplane cuts through the blue,
And you learn to ignore the world’s lobbies of expectations, in your pursuit of finding the truest you.
Adulthood arrives without warning, with a voice that is colder than stone,
Demanding the debts for the dreams you abandoned, and the seeds you never had sown.
You earn in hours bent over a desk, and late nights on a pc with the occasional grog.
Accumulating bills that you can barely pay off, with your side hustle and full-time job.
......
It begins with mornings-
a cup held warm between yor hands,
a glance across a quiet room,
the soft rhythm of ordinary hours.
You don't notice the shift,
not at first.
A season ends,
another begins,
and the familiar becomes
......