by C. L. Craven

Created on: April 22, 2008

Turning forty is a piece of cake.
It's turning fifty when one starts to take,
A good hard look and choices they've made.
A debt to one's conscious must always be paid.

Foundations so fragile on stone or on sand;
The lies and deception never could stand.
The test of a lifetime searching for peace;
By the time they've reached sixty the searching will cease.

As now well past mid-life, the steep mountains fade
In to the distance, as they stand in the glade.
No need for searching now that they have discovered,
The dream they call life could well soon be over.

They're seventy now and what was cannot be.
As they look at their self in the mirror and see
A stranger; somehow they never could know.
Their childhood memories begin to take hold.

As eighty approaches they hope for good days,
But more times than not there is struggle always.
They wait for their loved ones to come to the door,
To prove their existence is worth something more.

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