Life Less Young

 

My ode to musings over my lifespan…

I am childhood running with long legs and bare feet, milking blooms from evening honeysuckle fragrant and sweet.

I am the sound of cicadas a lullaby at nightfall. A bright twinkling star against a dark summer sky.

I am restless and reshaping the age of adolescent pain!

I am a rose in bloom, an unsettling sense of self, provoking attention unholy, both powerful, and, shamefaced.

I am Indian summer, girlhood in flight, my rite of passage into womenhood a sunrise not to celebrate.

I am women matured, with deep-seated wounds, journeys learned the hard way, baptized by fire.

I am the remains of the journey that now must be gathered a new rite of passage is on the horizon.

I am now the age that bought about the change, stronger from the fire, a gentler sense of self.

I am the splendor of the rose a sunrise to celebrate grieving not for the past of a life more young…

_ Barbara Miller

 

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