The Autumn Of Our Youth Poem by Tom Sinclair

I am neither old nor young
But somewhere in-between
Lost wholly in the Autumn
Of our youth, the graying of hair
Matches the browning of the leaves
The thickening of my body
Preparing for a cold long winter
Many young people talk to me
Bedazzled at my seniority
Just as if I am honest
I’m Aghast at their youth
Their tender limbs and
Plastic minds so far from mine
Mine like an Octopus
Extends its many limbs and
Envelops my wounded pride
Once I was really young, so green
Nothing hurt, nothing had been broken
Apart from perhaps my mind
Which always had a tendency
To chart new realms
On to my new autumn friends
Radiant with wisdom
Replete with crow’s feet
Tiptoeing their way to
The corners of their eyes
The radiance of youth replaced
With the burning passions of
Our middle age
A deep intertwining of
The knowledge that not all
Desire has to be love, to be sweet
Or that we don’t always desire whom
We love, Human relationships grow with subtlety
And In the same way I love to scrunch the fallen leaves
Of the seasonal autumn beneath my feet, I admit I take pleasure
In the fragility that underlies us all as people, as we
Are less and less inclined to jump feet first
But as the thirst for love and tenderness
Grow in opposite proportions
I wonder if it is no longer
A case of finding
Love

But more that I rest a while
And see what love befalls on me
And maybe just sit in the pleasant shade
Of adoration as my heart is heavy
With all the many times
It’s given itself
Complete