Is twenty old enough to give secrets of the world to hold,

Should still a boy of twenty one become prematurely old,

When I was twenty two my injuries caused my will to fold,

At age twenty three I married my precious treasure of gold,

When I was twenty four dreams woke me to again live,

A man of twenty five shouldn’t beg protestors to forgive,

When I was sixty two I cried so much I seemed a sieve,

Although I’m sixty eight I beg the sins of then you forgive,

I’ve tried in a way to heal my whole yet I’m still incomplete,

Like a babe in the woods I tried to live but couldn’t defeat,

That beast of long ago is seen in shadows from my feet,

As the sun sets the extension of me lays flat in the street,

Withe* flexibility flows from the dark silhouette I can see,

Most often it has no resemblance of this human being me,

Never erect, it’s forever following like a shadow should be,

Each time I see it I wonder what it’s hiding that I can’t see,

As darkness comes it must depart to places that be unknown,

When I sleep the intentions of the hiding beast are often shown,

Each journey, each mission are mushed into sins that I still own,

Eyes of each defeated foe are layered to stare like painted stone,

A thousand coats of my pain are upon the stone creatures I see,

I once ran from the soil of fray and was flown across the sea,

Tied to a stretcher unable to move as foe’s pain enveloped me,

Forty years later the creatures of aged stone I started to see,

I have the answer to a riddle or question formed in my mind,

How long does it take stone to cross oceans for me to find,

With stone eyes of layered foe are stone creatures really blind,

“Forty years and a day” I’d say of the mystery yet to be defined,

My form my fashion is known to most, they think I’m brave,

It’s never been courage they see but I fear fear will enslave,

Anchored to hold me there it’s that I have fear of the grave,

When you run in defeat you die inside to live as fear’s slave,

At sixty nine the willow will flex in motion to avoid Texas wind,

The unfortunate tragedy is that age removes the ability to bend,

So stand I must and fight “departure’s will” in combat to defend,

I defend for her as I always have and of “departure” it I will send,

Through script on a material of plastics and current I exude,

Release brings a cleansing unseen yet it does help to conclude,

I’m taken by surprise again at the will I have wrapped in fortitude,

I see her radiance and know she is the magic cure of my attitude,

Another Memorial Day brings pain that will resurrect once more,

Along with numerous question such as what were we fighting for,

Memories of extreme that I wish to buried in darkness forevermore,

But I hold dear my memories of strength from the girl I still adore.

The end

*”Withe” flexible branches used to weave baskets