Youthful Years

Youthful years ebb away

like a morning mist.

Time is no one’s confidante,

whether you repel or doubtfully persist.

Scars are masked and hidden,

leaving marks that forge with pain.

Memories might bring you back,

string up the lights of a forgotten pain.

Your voice could be echoed,

and carried by a whistling wind.

But age is not a standalone statue

that shows your beginning or the end.

Youthful is a glimpse of fleeting hopes

as time quickly goes by.

Nightfall awaits on the edges

how fearfully you may cry.

You may dream of tomorrow

or a timeless eternity.

Yet, you’re given ticking seconds,

the only chance of certainty.

Midnightink 7-19-23