There’s a whole world

within you that has just reached

the industrial age,

the black smoke

from the rigours

of all your hard work

come streaming out

of every orifice

that you are all at once

prickly, biting, but also



I’ve been there before,

though it was many, many

years ago when people

still printed out calendars

and hung them on walls.

But many fabulous beasts

have died out already

in the world within me.

The hope still remains

in here

but it’s wrinkled and calloused

and filled with the dark thoughts

of a dying world.


I can see the spark and sparkle,

the shine and beam

of all the magic of your youth

spilling out

like a waterfall at the rush of spring.

And I want to keep those waters clean.

I want to keep away all of humanity

from turning it into another wasteland,

another lost treasure

of the harsh and cruel nature of living.


I would bathe in those waters if I could.


But you’re 22.

What have I to offer when all I am is spent?

3 thoughts on “22

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