Life is hard and then its soft,
Sometimes good and sometimes not.
And if you could pat your youthful back,
To let them read your almanac.
Would it prep you for the doors and walls,
Divert you from the pits and the falls.
What if I left that book, not hidden?
Would you plan your life as a ride well ridden?
Or play it safe and never fail,
Hide from the storms, no rain or hail.
No errors made no need for reflection,
Aimlessly drifting, devoid of deflection.
A foreseen life though could fill and then drain,
The dates of our deaths, stagnating with pain.
With each day lived, being too slow to savour,
As life without risk, is like food with no flavour.
If I managed to meet the younger of me,
I’d drop to his height, go down on one knee.
Stare into his eyes, he’d looked down at his shoes,
I’d say, “Don’t change, one day you’ll like being you.
These folk who cause you to crease, stumble, ripple,
You’ll one-day work out, that they aren’t your people.
Live every day, soul heated by the flames,
It will fuel your core, a life to reclaim.
Ignore the lost adults, keep them all at distance,
Express yourself the way you feel, don’t live for their acceptance.
The world it turns, as it always has, be true to inner you,
As older folk will roll their eyes convinced it’s nothing new.
But age has just filled their mind with mistiness and clouds,
As their memories of youthful risks get covered up with shrouds.”
The sad thing is I remember me from years ago, far too close to danger,
And doubt I’d listen to older me, this wrinkled, balding stranger.
So with a lack of hindsight, we must love our heart’s, be kind,
As years of sailing fiery storms will test your once clear mind.
Like big Frank with his regrets, we all have had a few,
With age we change, we fall then rise, stay true…remarkable you!
Pedro Batpoet
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Pedro Batpoet 