<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427749" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Crossroads</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The second half of my life will be black <br>to the white rind of the old and fading moon. <br>The second half of my life will be water <br>over the cracked floor of these desert years. <br>I will land on my feet this time, <br>knowing at least two languages and who <br>my friends are. I will dress for the <br>occasion, and my hair shall be <br>whatever color I please.<br>Everyone will go on celebrating the old <br>birthday, counting the years as usual, <br>but I will count myself new from this <br>inception, this imprint of my own desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The second half of my life will be swift, <br>past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder, <br>asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road. <br>The second half of my life will be wide-eyed, <br>fingers shifting through fine sands, <br>arms loose at my sides, wandering feet. <br>There will be new dreams every night, <br>and the drapes will never be closed. <br>I will toss my string of keys into a deep <br>well and old letters into the grate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The second half of my life will be ice<br>breaking up on the river, rain<br>soaking the fields, a hand<br>held out, a fire,<br>and smoke going<br>upward, always up.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joyce+Sutphen">Joyce Sutphen</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427749" data-title="Crossroads de Joyce Sutphen" data-description="The second half of my life will be black to the white rind of the old and fading moon. The second half of my life will be water over the cracked floor of these desert years. I will land on my feet this time, knowing at least two languages and..."></div> </div> </div>

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