“MIddle Age”

The empty chairs
with outstretched arms
wait for someone to receive
and no one comes.

 The futility of their wait
is of no consequence to them
for what have they to do.

 And like them we all wait
and only find token reception,
short bursts and superficial greetings
to our waiting arms.

 We are too soon old
and too late smart
yet we continue on
wandering and hoping
all this will change.

 but for some of us
we know it won’t
and, of course, we are the hopeless,
living in the pit of our pessimism,
existing only for the bright flashes
like the rockets on the Fourth of July. 

How wonderful it would be
to be young again
and innocent and not so smart;
To have again all those goals,
and dreams and purposes
and to be naïve enough
to believe that somehow
our ordinary lives can be special.

 But we live now, not old, not young
trying to believe that uniqueness
while dealing with the reality
of a plain and simple life.

 I don’t care to change the world
or move a mountain
o
r a pebble for that matter.
I only wish to be special
in even an uneventful way.

 But I’m not.
So this is the frustration of middle age
I’ve arrived there so fast
and with so little trouble
that the journey has left me slightly shaken.

I feel I’m like the train
that goes where the track takes me.
I’ve no idea where that is
l
and I’m not so sure I care.

If this is what I’m meant to be
then pity me.
Pity me.