Slowly creeping into my eyes, turning them down.
Time’s weight wrinkles my youthful shine.
I didn’t see it happen, I didn’t know or care.
Until I looked in a young man’s eyes and saw an old man there.
I didn’t feel it coming.
In fact, I feel quite the same!
What is age really?
A word, or just a name?
I look into my father’s eyes,
And he seems old to me.
Does he look into another’s,
For their age to see?
When does youth become a thing that we feel must be chased?
Who started this event, this competition, this race?
This time is mine, not yours to take with your soulful glances into my eyes.
I like these wrinkles! They are youth, with experience!