They never return,
those winged wished for past
doubts and lost moments.

Sitting there, upon the rocks
beneath the mountain of life.
Each one carrying a name of
a struggle or choice made.
Some acceptable, but so
many stones turned that
revealed flaws.

Ahh, but to have the sight
to see the answer before
the thought becomes an
act.

To have the wisdom of middle age
when we are but a mere babe.
To know what to do and when.

Gosh, but life would surely be
a bore if all were right and one
never failed. For failure is our
teacher, though I assure you
failure allows us to fall with
compassion and a tear of
sadness intermixed.

Oh,but sometimes those
failures still hurt, even when
you wear a protective shell
of middle aged,tarnished
armor....