Hindsight
I met a wise, old man along my path
the clouds were drawn and angry,
ready to punish; weather as its charge.
I persuaded him to tell me about life
persuaded him again as he was reluctant;
he whispered barely audible,
wind and age in his lungs,
"Too late."
This is what he said to me.
"Too late."
"Your fears will bring upon your fate.
Your dreams to become what you will not want to be,
the conspirator within-
set free.
By far, it is too late."
"Too bad."
He said as he shook his worn head.
"Too bad."
"Your life is mirroring your soul.
Your quest for peace? They saw, and stole.
Life's journey brought you little hope, didn't it?
That is most truly, too bad."
"Too deep."
He said as puzzled as I had ever seen a man.
"Too deep."
"Your mind is a well too thirst-driven to quench.
Your ideas are wild and filled with knowledge
that no mild mind could comprehend.
That is, quite amazingly, too deep."
He stood there before me, grand, with a look as of awe-
a man admiring art, and said,
"My child what is too deep is often learned or noticed
too late and, for the youth of this land,
that is just entirely too bad."
-Elena McCoy
...this poem I found today, I wrote on September 25th, 2005....6 years ago! I didn't even remember having it much less writing it....but it sent me back and was a very welcomed surprise. I have never shared any of my work with anyone aside from some a select few people who are very close to me, but I feel like I am ready to do this a little, now. I hope you like it, but if not that's ok too! I know we all have different tastes and I appreciate that fact. This picture I took a couple of weeks ago also really connected, for me, really well the setting of the poem, so that is why I included it....Feels like the angry weather they were facing.
Here's to a good night for you all!
XoXo
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