Friday, May 28, 2010

Medieval

A poem that captures perfectly one of the aspects of middle age.

Ghosts
by Oliver Cooperman

At fifty-three, I have lived long enough
to see the ghosts of my failures
and understand that they are not
separate from who I am.

Despite my early promise,
I have been so slow
in understanding life.

My jokes don’t seem funny anymore.
I’m tired of myself
and restless with others.

Looking for glimpses of
the master’s hand
behind the curtain,
I clumsily stumble forward,
praying for grace.

__________________________


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