Uncertain how old we will be
when the turning is complete,
how old the earth is now
or ever will be.
How old the roads
that carve the land
or inner paths
we’ve travelled?
We all journey
the mortal way
and though not together
the ancient river
says we are,
that we walk and walk
again and again,
and no one knows
how old.
Reading of “How Old” with music by Norm Smookler
Great one, Brother!
So true, my friend!
Oh, yes. I’m often caught between the old and the ancient ageless. They are so different, especially when I feel/hold both at the same time. So many incarnations, so many times growing old. Will this turning actually make a difference? No one knows how old. Thank you, Don.
You really leverage the power of anaphora in this poem to spiral the meaning down into multiple layers of meaning with a clean, sharp dismount. Well done!
Very nice Don.
And so the immortal moment compounds, both ancient and mortal, incomprehensible as time itself. Thanks again, Don.
From high above our heads, the now is completion……….so beautifully put, Don!
Good morning, Don,
Your poem today carries us over the sweep of time, buoyed upon the ancient river. From time to time we disembark and walk the land, but always we return to the river.
I love how Norm’s music, the image of the old woman, and your words coalesce into a flowing whole. Thank you!
Wow.
forevermore. aumen Don
Don, I can’t describe in words how this touched my soul or rang a bell for me. But I am compelled to say thanks for this.
Don, I like the subjects you contemplate.
Poignant, especially now as I watch my 95 year old mother turn increasingly to listen to those on the other side. I will read your poem to her. Norms music added exactly the right tone.