When I was just 9, I wished
For the days to fall and turn and
Make me 10. Accomplished.
At 12, I longed to leave town
And move house again. Fresh
Start, new friends. Another down.
When 15 and troubled I pleaded for reversal
Of the previous two. This is not life,
Oh, sorrow. A mere rehearsal.
Now 18, I am pushing boundaries hard,
Wishing once again for the days to pass.
Seeking escapism in trying to be a bard.
At 81, I might wriggle from a single bed
With the cripple of Parkinsons or arthritis,
Or I might be lost at home, wishing
All those wishes had never been said.
so true Sean, so true! ! when we are all young we just want to get older and we are finally old enough we don't like it.simple but poignant! keep them coming :) HBH
Sean, Not many poets or people of 18 project themselves to old age and imagine what that might be like. This is both a cautionary tale and a setting of choice levels. Realize that you could change either outcome to the other or something you have not yet imagined! Good write. I continue to be impressed with your intelligence, imagination and skill as a writer. Keep up the good work. Best, Hugh
Very nice poem Sean. This reminds me of the ''Careful what you wish for...'' I do think somebody is listening to those wishes we make under our breath. I enjoyed this Sean, it makes you think. Sincerely, Mary
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Logical; I wish you good luck Sea'n.