“Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.” – Victor Hugo
Being 10, old began at 13,
At 13, old became 21.
Turning 21, life ended after 30.
At 31, old began at 40.
For every year after that,
the measure of oldness
climbed ever nebulously higher,
always 10 years ahead of me.
Is oldness a measure of wrinkles?
Is time the measure of wisdom,
a useless endeavor pairing
experience to common sense?
Life, love, anger, pain, happy, vain,
pass through aging ever the same.
The animated materials of life
measure not the soul’s domain.