Chased By Aging Faces Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

A budding of those young done,
Comes...
As if time creeps.
Many wish to see their 'buds',
Walk to stand tall...
Just months after birth.
And before they are able to even crawl.

A budding of those young done,
To come...
As if time to rush to use is not enough.
Or stored away to keep it controlled,
When the budding of the young...
Refuse to do what they are told.

A budding of the youing done,
Comes...
When their teens seem to fly by.
And 21 is the stage of a magic age,
That introduces minds wishing...
To ignore patience with temptations,
For those experiences to do all things crazed.

And then a budding of the young done,
Comes to speed with it disbelieved...
31 can no longer be claimed,
As young and budding.
With a withering away that begins to show,
The process of aging is not that slow.

Aches and pains gained,
Changes the game...
When the budding of the young done,
Comes to go.
And those dreaded 40's,
Begin the start of doing naughty things.
Like the fading of what had been clearly seen,
Can not be adjusted by the wearing of glasses.

Or the fact that one chased by aging faces,
Were those known when one was young.
But makes claims not to remember them,
As they approach with canes...
To do a limping done.
While the one with once useful knees,
Can not quickly from them run.