In youth it is all sunshine and joy; we are brand new, we function as the designer intended. Our perfect form exudes perfect peace. Our solid bones hold our frame firmly and flexibly. Our skin lays over our youthful bodies in artistic fit – there are no wrinkles, no weathering. Our head hair, that fine sprinkle of artistry, wholesomely covers our sculp. Our radiant faces are filled with smiles and hope. Our eyes, working as designed, seeks the arts, the beautiful. Our ears long for music, for pop, for the new. We live in perfection; without a fear, without a thought of weariness or failure or sunset. With excess generosity we hand out our time and attention to whoever asks for it.
The future holds the rewards that we hope for; the present keeps us at bay. And so we rush the present; we welcome the future with hopeful hearts.
But then the machine starts to wear down, the sun starts to set. The components begin to drag, the shadows begin to lengthen. The heart senses the loss; the intellect gets a peep of the dusk. The body, the machine, hits its limitations. The radiant glow of hope in the brow begins to fade, the wrinkles begin to take hold; and then we become misers with our time and conservatives with our bodies. We think of maintenance, of health, of exercise. We clearly see the walls and limitations of a life. Old memories become precious objects that we scramble to hoard and to hold.
Once in a while, the spark of youth flares, the machine functions efficiently, though momentarily, to our pleasant surprise; And hope, that reliable comforter of mankind, hastily mistakes it for another dawn.
The future holds the rewards that we hope for; the present keeps us at bay. And so we rush the present; we welcome the future with hopeful hearts.
But then the machine starts to wear down, the sun starts to set. The components begin to drag, the shadows begin to lengthen. The heart senses the loss; the intellect gets a peep of the dusk. The body, the machine, hits its limitations. The radiant glow of hope in the brow begins to fade, the wrinkles begin to take hold; and then we become misers with our time and conservatives with our bodies. We think of maintenance, of health, of exercise. We clearly see the walls and limitations of a life. Old memories become precious objects that we scramble to hoard and to hold.
Once in a while, the spark of youth flares, the machine functions efficiently, though momentarily, to our pleasant surprise; And hope, that reliable comforter of mankind, hastily mistakes it for another dawn.
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