In the early hours 'round four a.m.
Is when I take the time, since I have
Much of it, to ponder a variety of things.
The veins on my wrist, just under the most
Shallow, seemingly clear parts of my flesh
Could be green, were they not blue.
It's too bad, for green can be a lovely colour -
Depending on the shade, of course.
And my cat could be a younger cat, if I
Did not know his age. The age of a cat is
Difficult to tell, when one is not well
Acquainted with that particular feline.
And for that matter, perhaps I am older
Than I remember being and perhaps my
Memory is nothing at all, since I do not
Remember my birth nor shortly thereafter.
It seems to me that minutes and days seemed
To be the same as weeks and years, when I was
A few feet shorter and time was an endless
Possibility of adventure before me, and all
Excitement and anticipation for things good and
Bad took years to arrive, despite being only
Moments or days away.
And growing older means growing up, though no one
Ever really wants to after they realize what it entails.
The youthful desires to trade childhood away for anything
Other than waiting years for every moment to arrive were
Really foolish instances of racing to pastures on
The other sides of fences not nearly as green as the veins in
My wrists could be, were they not blue.
Written by [
Nioniel]
