Aged By Years Poem by Rebecca Mummery

I look up to the long-haired preachers of their kind,
In my vain attempt to comprehend their dialogue - deep as your darkest secret, the person you really are, the one that you hide.
I wrap their creativity around me like the discolouration of my bones,
For I long to activate myself, the one that crystalised through a darkened period of darkest times.
Increased maturity and an understanding,
Weighing down my aging bones.