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Our true coming of age is only ever to be found in our loving.
Old men die still young, with their hearts left often not yet un-gloved.
Yet with the right start to depart life they could've only imparted love.
Live until you really do die, and so never stop truly actively still living.
Within the fullness of living's lost art, only now we start living more smart.
No wiser man ever wished to live any longer than in his own loving heart.
Love visits you often before you finally die & exit this soon to be lost life.
Sometimes only to bring a tear, more often to remove some lasting fear.
Despite fears of dying often coming all through your long and lonely life.
They're still ever so near in love's lost living feared passing last years.
Everyone is the same age even as their heart's true colour now appears.
Old John was born too old to die young. He's not yet still ready to forgive.
Without him knowing it, he's showing it, while still left all too sadly still alive.
Life is never quiet over until it's buried us too deep, all lost too shallow inside.
Life must not ever be fully put all aside to subside only in its ebbing last tide.
Beauty moves deeper into the heart as age wearies the tiring old spent body.
Only loving experiences ever lastingly remain within our own pureness of truth.
Love is our only lasting gain to retain once obtained as its last living lost proof.
Age is lived largely on the outside. Inside our heart we are untimely ageless.
Aging creates a mould of love to fill itself full in its lost lasting missing youth.
When youth is spent the mould repents, at love never quite given while living.
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Poetry: Coming of age
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