The pursuit of my youth has run itself out.

Wrung out of me like the color of my hair –

Chestnut curls bleeding out leaving only silver behind.

The force of my womb gone silent.

No longer pining after love or yearning for partnership

as the potentials for life have lost their plump luster.

Raisins where there once were pearls.

Youthful excitement – the once greening branches of optimism

now bone dry and fragile like the skeleton

that formerly provided pliable and safe structure for my flesh.

Flesh that was once even, tight, and smooth,

now pock-marked and deflated –

a balloon punctured by the harsh betrayal of life’s refusals.

A boneyard of dreams turned to dust.

No refreshing rains fall in the desert of aging.

Here we turn away from our dreams and toward a friendship with Death.

Death is coming for us even as we cling to our dreams,

reminding us of the wisdom we‘ve gained,

the growth we’ve attained, and all the ways we’ve loved.

This – more than any imagined meaning or purpose – is why we’re actually here.

In releasing the pursuits of our youth,

this we’re able to remember:

the wisdom we’ve gained and all the ways we’ve loved.