They Never Left: Stanza 3 Poem by gordon francis
They Never Left: Stanza 3
As a teenager
I became unsure
of
hanging onto the past
of
grasping the future.
For
the past was sure-footed,
unselfish,
unencumbered,
magical,
mythical.
But
the future was clumsy
uneven,
uncharted
and
scary.
My playground became
the real
big,
bad,
wicked,
wide,
world,
where one had to put aside the
magical,
mythical,
and
encompass the uncertainty
of the future,
facing it
like a man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/14/2024 6:48:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
