when i was

when i was young,
i never had great plans;
i rarely dreamed or sought to understand
who i was or could be.

now that i’m older,
i wish i would have been bolder;
imagining more than i could be then,
even if all dreams, it seems i created, were only pretend.

i think that’s what separates the most from the few;
it’s what they see they can do, but not today,
but rather tomorrow;
through all trials and sorrow and beyond.

if i could go back to meet me,
i would shake what sense i now know into my younger soul;
i’d tell him to learn to begin to believe,
and to be willing to bleed to be more.

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One Comment

  1. Wow, beautiful poem. The last lines are especially great – “I’d tell him to learn to begin to believe and to be willing to bleed to be more.” Brilliant! Keep writing 🙂

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