Jul 28

There was a man that was older than me, but there were more ideals in his hand. The compassion of youth darkens like a prey bird’s feathers as we age. The world closes in to a dark perimeter without our houses and any and all we do not know are on their own. When I was young, there was at least the chance that things got better instead of merely staking out for ourselves. When we age we settle for less than the open vistas and unending blue for a meaner season meant to give contentment. But then we age more and the door is thrown open again and we see outside, and it is daylight, there are birds singing and breeze in the air.

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