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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Poetry: Seasons of Age

Hey all,

Look at this. Three posts, three days! I actually got inspired to write some poetry this weekend after watching Toy Story 3. There very "coming of age" aspects of that film really resonated with me and I thought would make a good topic for a poem. I haven't written a large amount of poetry this year, mostly because I'm trying to do some different kinds of material and not the same forlorn love stuff over and over. I mean I'm fine doing that if I have a fresh take on it, but I don't want to write it simply for the sake of writing it.

This poem is a pretty straight forward affair. Each stanza acts as one of the four stages of life. A child, a young adult, middle age, and growing old. Each age has its own perceptions and take on things, and this is my version. i hope you like the poem, and I will try to be back soon with more updates. Thanks again fro reading.

Seasons of Age

In the first it seems so slow.

Moments come and moments go.

All your days break in the morning sun.

As you play and shout and have such fun.

Worries, cares, are burdens not,

As seething troubles have yet to rot.

Colors flair and flowers bloom,

But Spring and Summer will fall to soon.

In the middle it feels just right.

When days and years are not yet slight.

Romance and love have come to crest,

As life and times are but an easy test.

You feel as if you cant be hurt,

The dangers of life are but flirts.

And as the boy becomes the man,

Only then can he see the plan.

Near the end it gets more fast,

As time grows short and doesn’t last.

Carefree ways have now found burden,

As responsibilities are far more certain.

Wistfully you recall past days.,

Of times when you weren't set in ways.

A wife, a child may come to bear,

Sooner yet, strike graying hairs.

But at the end it's over then.

Past by so quick you can't pretend.

Children have grown and left behind,

And the life you live is no longer defined.

The seasons of age have grown so cold,

As Winter's grip has turned more bold.

And as your last breath leaves your lung,

It's only then you end what you begun.

End of Line.


Angela Hart said...


Gerrad McConnell said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Gerrad McConnell said...

Thanks! I really appreciate the feedback!