Thirty-eight
forty in the distance, just coming into sight like a train clickety-clacking down the track
thinking back to what I’d planned
Not these cracks of life, lacking siubstance and direction, reeling like a lost soul
bushwhacking through a tangled mess, distracted by the glaring steel in the distance
Unablet to focus on the task at hand, the goals, the ideas, the projects that once
entranced and energized and that now just slump like bracken
in the distance, along the track.
Approaching mid-life in process. It’s hard work and you’ve definitely captured it. At twice this age, I dare to counsel it gets better further down the track. And keep writing poems along the way. This one is full of life.