There is a hollow truth
at the heart of all youth,
It fades slowly away.
I don’t often yearn
for the glow of those years.
The mornings were yellow
But the sunset is gold.
I feel no burdening sorrow.
There’s advantage to being old;
I will always value tomorrow.
I came to this place
to express my youth.
That’s the truth.
But I’ve watched it all
with a very old head.
All I see is the quick and the dead.
I look back to a path
that’s paved with regret.
I don’t forget.
But I hide in a world
of positive thinking.
I might be mistaken.
I believe it’s not over yet.
If my soul doesn’t die
and fade to oblivion
(which might be welcome and sweet)
on the next path I take,
when I fall through a vortex
and chromosomes gather again,
let me land on my feet with assurance.
I don’t care when or where.
Bone, sinew and tissue are not the main issue.
I already know who I am.
I seek only one vital key
that opens the door to why.
Alice sits still
Contemplating her knees
Fiddling about with her toes
While the birds in the trees
Sing what they please
To the words that only she knows.
Buttercups, daisies, all stand in line
And circle around her grass seat
From her head to her feet
She is very complete
In her sparkle of youth
And delight.
As she grows old she blooms like a rose
But only the Hatter knows
How lovely she is
And he’s mad.
She wouldn’t believe him
Whatever he said .
She thought the road lead
To the vale of the dead
Where all the daffodils die.
”Look at the bulbs”, he said.
”There’s a wink in the cuckoos eye.
The secret is – never ask why.”
The Dreaming Path 