On turning thirty-four and five sixths years old

I’m cross.

My youth stole away.

Amid a strange night.

“It’s like I’ve died!”

“Stop exaggerating”, someone implied.

But he and I are not alike.

It seems to me he’s just stronger.

A tad bit younger

Still got a little longer.

Everything is a pain,

When you feel the force of every strain.

Every cold wind and hot glare.

When the refuge of denial is not there.

And tomorrow’s energy is earnt today,

And might fail to appear anyway.

Every time this question sits:

“Is it worth it?”

Every time I must insist

“Yes”

(Except when it’s “No”)

I remember when everything felt cheap

I just did what seemed to please

Whatever was in front of me

Certain God was leading me

And ground gave way easily

But now?

Daily life has become a… tapestry

A dance

A complex negotiation with France

More about style and rhythm

–the threads you weaved

Than direction or miles driven

–what you achieved

And I think the thing that bothers me most of all

Is it’s normally

incredibly

dull.