Chris Milne Writes: Poetry, Philosophy and Essays

I’m getting old.
It is clear to me, because I finally see what I hold.

What is it, you ask?
The future that I wish to unfold.

I am no longer scared to be bold.
I will no longer fold.

Time has left many scars, 
Yet still I cannot give up.

I, nay – we all just want to be loved.
Come over, sit awhile, don’t be scared: I was once too.

It’s only natural, we are born with that lovely glaze over our eyes;
Wonder, curiosity, awe: don’t let that die, whatever you do.

Yet as time passes, that glaze is melted;
Tragedy, heartbreak and loss, it kills that wondrous gloss.

Yet I know, that within my hands, I have the power to renew: 
If your heart is fearful, throw away fear…take your axe in your hand and attack – said the great Enkidu.

But he was not talking to him, that once great king.
He was talking to you and I, and that one thing we all share: our fear of our time to die.

But I shall not give up, no matter how times that boulder rolls down the hill.
For I see what man can offer this world, once we give up our desire to kill.

And so, with these wounded, sorrowful hands – trudge on I will.
For there is only one thing left to do;

Come over, stay awhile, do you want some coffee?
Love you say, I’ve got plenty of that too;
And more and more, just for you.

What is it, you ask, that is within my hands?
The future I wish to unfold:

One where only one story is told;
That of love and harmony.

I’ve got enough to give for everyone,
Come on, lets have some fun – hell, I can’t wait to see.