Mid point, half way over
or is it?
as the minutes grow short
reflection takes hold
rumination begins in earnest
taking stock of what is
and what might have been
within the frame of half a century
the hustle and flow of lifes rich pagent
sometimes leaves one by the wayside
wondering why, always why
the esoteric and spiritual
gains new importance
when one feels the tangible slipping away
each day, the gray replaces what once was
the lines of time become clearer
and one dreads what they see
in the mirror, yet life hasnt gone away
we have merely kept it at bay,
waiting for what else it brings
that next big thing,
hopefully a bang
and not a whimper.
Go not quietly into the night
stand and fight
and live forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem