Nights are drawing in

This is another old poem, newly rediscovered and reworked. The third verse really makes me think about life’s trajectory for so many people, and how quickly you can reach that inflection point, where opportunities go from being boundless to being constrained and reduced.

I guess the way to fight that is to periodically reinvent yourself, as you determine what’s important to you, and what it is that you want to do with the next stage of your life (and the next, and the next). I feel thankful that I had the opportunity to move to the US when I did. As an outsider, a stranger in a strange land, I feel that I’ve had more opportunities than most to determine what’s important to me, and what I’m going to do about it.

Nights are drawing in

Nights are drawing in
No longer can he look to summer 
Spreading out in front of him
Long, long days 
Short, short attention span
Footloose, and fancy free

Fall now upon him, and winter soon to follow  
He senses he’s lost his footing
Swearing that all that is free in this world
Are uninvited opinions and equally unwelcome advice 

Where once opportunities were boundless
He’s bound by what could have been 
Bound by what should have been
And haunted by what actually was

Still, he has his health
Though, in truth, that’s not what it was
No longer in his prime
He forgets when that was, or truly, if it ever was
???????
Now, whenever he struggles for breath
Or breathes in his own stale odors
So deeply ingrained, that no soap wash away
He’s painfully reminded that it isn’t now

Nights are drawing in
No longer can he look to summer
Instead, feeling the chill in the air
Pulling his age-worn clothing tight
Around his equally age-worn body
He settles in for what lies ahead