If you are old and I am young

will it matter upon the rising of the son?

After 30  noone asks, the tasks of children are all in hand

Duties are met and obligations fulfilled

neatness descends and orders our days

Time is the marching band to which we yield.

 

If I am old and you are young

Will they stop and stare

Will I be carded at the fair?

Beds unmade and deadlines missed

Lovers bliss and your sweet sweet kiss

A haze of wisdom in which to end my days.

 

Alone, a compacted soul afloat

not blissful or ironic but occasionally gnomic

I continue to exist when brutal doors are closed

I think and feel regardless of your year.

 

Love should hold no limitation true

but bound by convention,usually adhere

to what is known, what we fear