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Open Poetry #35
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Corinne
Member Ascendant
since 1999-10-28
Posts 5167
state of confusion

0 posted 2005-05-12 07:50 PM



Forty-seven
tastes foreign on my tongue;
it seems a long time
to have lived.

If I’d been born in an earlier time,
I'd be ancient by now,

or that pneumonia I had five years ago
would have taken me
by forty-two.
Was I meant to have left then?

Is that why being here
feels so temporary
and does it explain

why

I’m so tired
some of the time?

© Copyright 2005 Corinne - All Rights Reserved
Nightshade
Deputy Moderator 5 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Patricius
since 2001-08-31
Posts 13962
just out of reach
1 posted 2005-05-12 08:08 PM


Wait till you get to my age .... I'm so tired at times .... I'm too tired to wonder why. Huh? Oh, enjoyed the write. hugs, Chris

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
~Carl Sandburg

jwesley
Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563
Spring, Texas
2 posted 2005-05-12 09:54 PM


Enjoyed this my friend and the way you brought a little "history" of Forty-Seven into it.

Wrote this awhile back and never went anywhere with it. Now understand that it was waiting to be used in response to your "Forty-Seven".

"Is that me in the mirror?
Is that face of grey,
worn with age,
with all the years
deep in the eyes,
truly me?
It must,
but cannot be;
it’s not what I see,
but it is,
I know it is,
yet I cannot believe
that I have bypassed youth,
middle-age,
and now am truly on in years."

Enjoyed you way with words, as always...

jwesley

DonFurr
Member
since 2001-01-01
Posts 172
Monticello IN
3 posted 2005-05-23 11:19 AM


I almost felt the  same one short year ago,
but I find now that 47 is still within the
bloom of youth and look forward to the
surity and growth that can come with
maturity.

Bind  me sole and Soul to the One
Together to pour Love into the world
until tears of joy fall like rain


Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
4 posted 2005-05-23 11:36 AM



It's called...
motherhood!

You'll catch
your second breath
soon...

like this poem did.

I'm glad it popped back up!


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