An imagination unconfined

And undisturbed by ceaseless time

Is something rare indeed to find

As we start to age

When someone offers up for trade

Youth and wonder for an 8 hour day

The mind can seem to be unmade

Replaced by obligation

I reflect back on the youthful me

And my current daily drudgeries

Until there’s something bitter in me

And I put the thought away

What on earth, is someone to do

Without youthful dreams to persue

A baran grove devoid of fruit

Nothing there to nourish

I guess I’ll go forth and plant new seeds

Where the crop of youth used to be

Although bitter fruit, it is indeed

They still deserve to grow

I’ll seek to hone and redefine

This newfound cynical voice of mine

And, in doing so, strive to find

In it, some form beauty

We become new selves as we age

And in so doing seek to assuage

The corrosion of our youthful ways

Wrestled from conformity

With that in mind, I’ll make a vow

To sow the seeds and pull the plow

To make harvest of the ‘here and now’

And foster forth the growth

I cannot and will not tear asunder

Remnants of my childish wonder

And allow the world to plunder

The treasures of my youth

a man now grown but will not relent

To responsibility at my detriment

But will make my time well spent

With what I choose to do

And despite my aged cynic’s eyes

I will not allow myself to despise

My current station in this life

Because it’s really not so bad

It may be different than what I’d see

When as I child I’d imagine me

And what I’d do and who I’d be

But that always seems the case

But, from life, one can derive

Ways to become and feel alive

Though it may be a harder strive

It is still a good pursuit

I’ll wake up and check the vine

Of this weary crop of mine

And in turn I will find

Life still bearing fruit.