FUTURE YEARS

The wound still beats you many times over. My body preferred to endure and bear the scars, verbal aggression, humiliating blows - was it time to humble myself into adulthood? But I was forced to guard my defiantly stubborn childish self, because I clung to my toys with selfless joy and persistent love, like a curious child playing, because I dared to believe that it was only possible without anxious rules, without nightmarish, sleepy fears, without being confined by useless barriers. 

And that in the evening the Dear One's death-wish is always waiting, cuddled and cherished, and that the permanent, solid fulfilment of the All can never be a burdensome but liberating relief. He who, actively and thoughtfully called, would have liked to keep the naive child within himself, may learn to fall and rise even sooner. Frightened by the burnt-out sternness of adults, and the insidious weaponry of sneering villainous interests! 

I have failed innocently in the loyal eye of many. - I thought, as one who holds fast to his principles with fidelity and perseverance, that he must strive responsibly, always on the well-worn cogs of Morality, always striving for happiness, always giving, and never asking for a moment's hesitation, to go forward without regret. Thirty years after, now the indecision of Existence has struck its ancestral head in my doubting soul. 

And how many intimate opportunities, waiting with intention, would offer me their ideas and deeds - it is time to begin the noble tasks. I have always sacrificed my days, whatever anyone may say, in the name of literary service, with conscious deliberation - I could have resolved to learn to act more courageously, more characteristically, and, if possible, not to give up the ideas of my dreams yet! And now, though more modestly my alarming heartbeat warns me, My front-sensitive knee, if a grim time-front comes, Still trembles before the weary of contemplatives; My bone long since holds the weary years within!