There is a beauty in youth that does not speak to us in age.

We see a photograph of what we once were and we amaze.

It is the beauty of hope

It is the beauty of innocence

It is the beauty of a life not yet lived

Not yet fully enjoyed

Not yet terribly suffered

Seeking to understand

That is not to say there is not beauty with age that reflects youth.

We see a photograph of what we are becoming and we reflect.

It is the beauty of experience

It is the beauty of knowing

It is the beauty of wisdom

Not yet finished

Not yet completed

Seeking to discover

With increasing difficulty, the beauty of youth can still be seen in old age.

The photographs of what we were, often lost, in a shoebox go unnoticed.

The mirror gets clouded

The mirror gets distorted

The mirror gets tarnished

Not yet gone

Not yet over

Seeking to re-discover

When our physical beauty has turned to wrinkles and wonders,

The photographs will be to be remembered instead of remembering.

When we stop to look back will we see,

Really see who we were and who we have become,

And ask, what is beauty really as we go from youth to old age?

There is no photograph that can truly reflect or tell our story.

There is only you. There is only me. To live. To love. To die.

To leave behind something better than it was before.

IT’S BRAND NEW:
WELCOME TO THE INAUGARATION
OF THE POETRY SECTION OF MY SUBSTACK PAGE

This poem was prompted by a poem written by SARA DA ENCARNAÇÃO.
Check out this link to see her poem, “Not Today”.

I dedicate this inaugural poem of my Substack page
to Sara and appreciate her as a mentor in how
to look at life and to see what is really there
or just on the other side, or not yet created!

To Life & To Death & To Growing Up

Life is never easy, especially as we are growing up.

There are things we’ve yet to know, yet to understand.

However, grow up we must and suffer, disparage, regret,

Experience, grow. realize, embrace, change, learn, grow again,

As we become the person we were hopefully meant to be.

People we love leave in unexpected ways, at unexpected times

Causing us to question our purpose and to mourn our loss.

We celebrate as best we can, sometimes with tears, at times laughter.

There is no teacher’s lesson plan for us to follow on “how to grow up”.

But somehow we make it, not avoiding reality but living it,

Participating in it, hopefully dancing with it, sometimes wildly,

And doing so in a way that makes it beautiful for us and for others

Who are fortunate enough to come in contact with and to know us.

And then, unexpectedly again, it will be our turn to leave this life

Having done our best to celebrate this round, to celebrate those we loved,

To celebrate those whose souls we have touched and whose souls

who have touched us. And then to celebrate death. And that is good.

Fondly,

Michael