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Musings on Turning 50
As though ignited by a switch,
I walk away,
Forty-nine and three quarters,
Out of an old, damaged skin,
Raw and exposed,
I turned my back on the child,
Filled with hope,
And joy I once knew.
My cherub face masks doubt,
And fear,
As the approaching decade,
Seeks to right past wrongs.
I find myself weak, yet
Strong as time heals,
And I grow, in life, in hope,
In love, and into the child,
Full circle, I’ve turned
To face, again.
