Amber Autumn (Sonnet)
To some, their youth was just sublime.
Then age crept up and over time
Their joy then faded with the years
As body changes led to fears.
Their days are spent rememb’ring when...
They long to see their youth again.
For those whose youth was filled with strife,
Their autumn years are best in life.
Now their retirement Is here,
Old age is far from what they fear.
Time now to enjoy and savour
Their rewards for past times labour.
It’s time to spread their wings and fly,
To enjoy God’s gifts ‘fore they die.
poem by Connie Marcum Wong
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Related quotes
Age considers, youth ventures
Age considers, youth ventures
Age visualizes, youth dreams
Age makes theories, youth experiments
Age loves, youth longs
Age sees people, youth sees places
Age knows belongings, youth discovers them
Age pains to gain, youth gains to others' pain
Age has heart, youth has mind
Age is thoughtful, youth is tactful
Age ponders, youth wonders
Age recounts, youth counts
Age is experienced, youth is in experience
Age is cautious, youth dashes
Age floats, youth swims
Age lives, youth still making a living
Age is in touch with termination, youth with determination
Age is confident, youth is competent
Age adds years to living, youth adds life to living
Age is lost in past, youth is drowned in future
Age is grown, youth is crown
Ageless is youth, youthless is age
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Lines.—If we should ever meet again
If we should ever meet again
When many tedious years are past;
When time shall have unbound the chain,
And this sad heart is free at last;—
Then shall we meet and look unmov'd,
As though we ne'er had met—had lov'd!
And I shall mark without a tear
How cold and calm thy alter'd brow;
I shall forget thou once wert dear,
Rememb'ring but thy broken vow!
Rememb'ring that in trusting youth
I lov'd thee with the purest truth;
That now the fleeting dream is o'er,
And thou canst raise the spell no more!
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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Kohelet Again It Is Not Just The Vanity Of Vanities
It is not just the vanity of vanities
It is not just the truth of the contradictions
It is not just ‘a time for this and a time for that'
It is not just ‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth before the evil days grow nigh'
It is not just ‘Better a living dog than a dead lion'
It is not just ‘Enjoy your days with the wife of your youth'
It is not just the eternal truths
And the poem of the long home-
And the turning again and again of the wind and the water
And the sun and the sound-
It is not just the sheer beauty of the thing and its words
Despite an occasional archaic ugliness
It is not just the truth that cannot be gone beyond
Because this is what life is and what the grave is and what we are
It is not just too ‘that the making of many books much less the making of many poems is a weariness of the flesh-
It is that after all the years I have arrived at the time
Where the golden bowl may be broken and the voice of the grinders made low
And man return to his eternal home-
As in youth I in old age read and reread the words of the Preacher
And know myself and all of us in them-
Oh the greatest Literature is here
And part of it I repeat in my fragmented self
While the long distance of life goes beyond
In words which will be heard for the first time -
For this too is not everything
And what we do not know yet
Kohelet too does not know-
And for all of us as God permits
Who knows what will come
After the Vanity-
If it is after all Vanity
And the end of it all?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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These Are The Days
Ah ah
Heres a song
About living in the past
If it was so good then
How come it didnt last?
If it helps you
Ill put it in a phrase
Those were the times
But these are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
The times youre smiling back on
Had that great sitcom
It hardly compensated
For the terror of the bomb
Let me help
cause youre looking through a haze
Those were the times
These are the days
These are the days
Hey hey hey
These are the days
Can you hear me now?
These are the days
Look around look around look around
These are the days
These are the days
Hey hey live today
These are the days
Its time to put the past away
These are the days
The more you do the more you say
These are the days
The more I need to get away
Youre longing for a time
There never was
Now tell me the truth
Youre looking for the reason
Its because
Youre fighting for youth
But if I have to listen any more
To fantasy talk
Or any other bug you have
Im leaving
Now Im not saying
Everything is really great
Hey hey hey
After sixteen years
Of legalised class hate
Why waste time
Looking back for things to praise?
Those were the times huh
But these are the days
These are the days
Looking back in history
These are the days
Time to get contempory
These are the days
The past is not the place to be
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem to Honor St. Valentine
If youth could age's wisdom ken,
& age could know youth's fire again
or age could Old Time's hands turn back
T'would then be youth with time to spend
& wisdom's strengths on which to depend.
This said, t'is never just white or black
For youth doth all discretion lack
& age tho' willing & desirous to play
To youth's vitality must passion give way
& such a conflict therein lies
for age is by youth most oft despised
& youth by age oft seen to whine,
“please, won't you be my valentine?”
poem by Hugh Cobb (12 February 2006)
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Getting Old
When you’re young you think you know it all
Then you get old and life begins to unfold.
In their youth they don’t think ahead
The future is something they do not dread.
They feel that everything in life they can control
They’re young and strong and very bold.
Aaaah! Those beautiful days bring back memories
Of how simple life used to be.
Youth had respect for the elderly
And their fellow man.
Now the elderly they try to scam.
When they are older they will see
They want respect and to live with dignity.
they are young and they don’t seem to understand
That with age you may need a helping hand.
Everything in life comes in stages
It’s like a book when you turn the pages
It gets deeper and keeps you enthralled
Until the time that you reach the end
And you’ve lost all your family and friends.
The First stage is when you are a child
And someone is taking care of you for that while.
The Second stage is when you become a teen
And you feel like a king or queen.
You feel that you can not get old
This is what you believe at this stage in your life
Because you’re not looking at the struggles and strife.
The Third stage is the adolescent years
And you feel you’re in control and lose your fears.
The final stage is when you become old and gray
And your youthful years have slipped away.
You look back and ask yourself!
where did All those years go?
Why did I waste so much time?
And the most important thing is
That I am so glad I made you mine
For with you by my side I had a life divine.
So to the youth who have not gotten to this stage
Don’t get angry, and get rid of your rage.
There is no way to turn back the time
For time just moves straight ahead
You’re getting to the point that you now dread.
WELCOME TO OLD AGE! HA-HA
poem by Louis Rams
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Youth Youth Youth
Youth youth youth
Youth youth youth
Never wanna be an adult
Always wanna be in revolt
Youth youth youth
Youth youth youth
Don't wanna spend my life saving up for things
Don't wanna have what a steady job brings
I don't want security
Don't want responsibility
Don't wanna stay at home not making any noise
I've always got to be out
I've always got to have a choice
I don't want security
Don't want responsibility
Youth youth youth
Youth youth youth
I don't want no uniform
I don't want no book of rules
Youth youth youth
Youth youth youth
Never wanna be an adult
Always wanna be in revolt
Youth youth youth
Youth youth youth
I don't want no uniform
I don't want no book of rules
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Youth is blind
Youth is power; youth is vigour;
Youth is initiative; youth is revolutionary;
Youth is dedication; youth is freedom;
Youth is love; youth is passion.
Yes, because youth is blind
Out of them elders make winds
01.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Little Pieces of Innocence
Little Pieces of Innocence
(0n watching my children sleep)
Sweet sleep, little pieces of innocence,
While dreams so serenely fair,
Fill their heads with joyous thoughts,
How gladly do I stand and stare,
Upon the gifts that love has brought.
No darkness spreads her sorrow here,
Sleep on dear children, rest, but know,
Your father watches with such delight,
This moment of truth, and with heart aglow,
And filled with love this night.
Those little pieces of innocence,
So serene, so full of grace,
Sweetest gifts that Heaven imparts,
Fondly shall I long embrace,
The innocence in their hearts.
Those little pieces of innocence,
Their youthful years so few,
Enjoy now as you grow,
Joys of innocence, pure and true,
That only children ever know.
The hour is fleeting, and morn is nigh,
Innocence so filled with truth,
Awake! enjoy your childhood years,
Before time sweeps away your youth,
And innocence disappears.
Never, never can I lose them,
No time or distance shall stake a claim,
Though saddness may overcome me,
My heart will stay the same,
And those little pieces of innocence will forever be.
By
Richard Netherland Cook
poem by Richard Netherland Cook
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Youth In Embers
My mirror is troubled, tired of lying to me
My youth is gone, life torn and tattered no longer to be
Like quenching flames that dance suffocating in the rain
Just the agony, pain and regrets of past years reflect again
Is there a way I thought to throw my ashen cloak
And start my life anew under different clock
Yet the flames of my youth shall never leap and burn
Time flows on me so cruelly with no return
So many winters have besieged my life, quizzes out of grace
And dug deep trenches in my face
My skin is dying, dry, dots and spots, brittle and blasted away
Youth proud of lusty days, against now deep-sunken eyes of decay
For years I stopped birthdays and calendar count to tell my time
As the brave day sinks into a hideous foul night
I watch the shy violet behind a rock that year by year renews its prime
My youth in embers, like ashes all bleak white
To H.a.b. On My Forty-seventh Birthday
WHEN one is forty years and seven,
Is seven and forty sad years old,
He looks not onward for his Heaven,
The future is too blank and cold,
Its pale flowers smell of graveyard mould;
He looks back to his lifeful past;
If age is silver, youth is gold:-
Could youth but last, could youth but last!
He turns back toward his youthful past
A-throb with life and love and hope,
Whose long-dead joys in memory last,
Whose shining days had ample scope;
He turns and lingers on the slope
Whose dusk leads down to sightless death:-
The sun once crowned that darkening cope,
And song once thrilled this weary breath.
Ali, he plods wearily to death,
Adown the gloaming into night,
But other lives breathe joyous breath
In morning's boundless golden light;
Their feet are swift, their eyes are bright,
Their hearts beat rhythms of hope and love,
Their being is a pure delight
In earth below and heaven above.
And you have hope and joy and love,
And you have youth's abounding life,
Whose crystal currents flow above
The stones and sands of care and strife.
May all your years with joys be rifc,
May you grow calmly to your prime,
A maiden sweet, a cherished wife,
A happy mother in due time.
All good you wish me, past my prime,
I wish with better hope to you,
And richer blessings than old Time
And Fate or Fortune found my due:
For you are kind and good and true,
And so when you are forty-seven
May spouse and children in your view
Make Home the happiest life-long Heaven.
poem by James Thomson
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The Future Is The Children's
The future is the children's and I am of the past
And I too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.
The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as I do where did the years to go.
The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.
The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.
poem by Francis Duggan
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His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Autumn of My Youth
In autumn of my youth
I see my leaves changing
I see my stars waning.
In autumn of my youth I dreamed a dream
And sought what I seemed to be
The meaning of that dream.
In autumn of my youth it was my lot
To hunt the hungry world a spot
And lay my burdens aside
In a vast field of rye so wide
In autumn of my youth it was my place
To wrap the summers in a constant embrace
Plead them not to enter
The Ashen Valley
Where dreams are broken asunder
Below grey skies.
In autumn of my youth
I see the faces of a world that awaits me.
So ghastly black and white,
Where the loss of hope defers the youth
A second sight
In autumn of my youth,
I longed to be
With the summers, one you and one me
Equally chained and equally free
poem by Jacob McCurdy
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Evolution [my Life's Journey]
Oh how sad it makes me feel
As I hear the footsteps of my youth
Grow fainter and fainter with every passing day
Leaving me nothing but memories,
Of my boundless energy and my lust for life
Seeking knowledge and truths
Looking forward to the days and years ahead
Letting my imagination take me to places
I may never see except through my minds eye
Where melting snows became a raging river,
Or blowing snow and howling wind,
Became a far off desert
But as reality took over fantasy
What we once could see is no longer visible
And just like a sculptor father time etching our faces
Taking away our youth with each strike of his chisel
With the hammer of time
Removing what was and leaving us with what is to be
Oh how we cling to those days of our youth
For those were the days when the world was ours
poem by David Kush
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I hope you enjoy your time away
I hope you enjoy your time away
Those awesome times,
Those lovely days
I hope you enjoy your time away
I hope you enjoy your time away
When you come back
I’ll probably have turned gay (with Shaun: S?)
I hope you enjoy your time away
I hope you enjoy your time away
With family and friends
What more can I say
I hope you enjoy your time away
poem by Gerald Fitzwilliam
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Youth Dream Purchase Price Paid
youth dreams full of testosterone
impatience desires action completion
now now now youth is life trying
youth is working for other people
youth is working with other people
youth is learning about other people
in changing challenging life context
enjoy it or frustrated with it a lot
but at the same time youth screaming
to break out and be able to do own thing
the majority of the work force
probably feels this ghost echo
definitely crisis mix sometimes
few people get to do exactly
what they want to do
all or even most of the time
employment is necessity
unless rich financially
care free freedom independent
the less capital qualifications
the more compromise
due to lack of opportunities
working for others
is a good chance
to learn from their expertise
mistakes management
staff interaction
all necessary important
skills learn everything
you can while waiting
for your own dreams
an important
knowledge skills
career with many
interactive fields
of acquired knowledge
waits over horizons
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Enjoy
Enjoy these instants afforded you before they pass away.
If love is your password, happiness will mark your stay.
There is no better investment than time with family and friends.
There's no better feeling than the effect that your love sends.
Take time out of each day and enjoy what's important in your life.
Then dismiss time consuming, unimportant things that cause strife.
Enjoy today without worrying about what will happen tomorrow.
Present is past in a moment and time is a thing you can't borrow.
Before clock or events can ever so quickly alter your tenuous fate,
Enjoy, enjoy your wonderful, loving life; it's still not too late!
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Age
I recall the times
I'd dance on life's delicate toes,
Always believing
The faster I'd live, the more of living I would know -
The divine dove of fearless youth
Was right beside me all the way,
That is until, out of the blue
That fickle friend just up and flew away -
There's always a time to play
And a time to rest,
Lately it's the latter
I enjoy the best -
These days my old pals and I
Can't make it so late drinking from the wild-well,
We end up sleeping all the next day
And feeling like hell -
I used to like
Riding bulls and raising cain,
Driving back roads day and night
And camping out in the rain -
I had my own special ways
And unique charms,
Born riding a horse
And working on a farm -
But, as with all of life
Everything has to change,
There's not one element in any of it
That forever remains the same -
So now I'm a bit less special
And have far fewer charms,
Mostly these days just enjoy thinking gentle in my head
And doing simple work with my two old arms -
A good thought
And a good days work,
Help to heal livings pains
And lifes hurts -
So yea, youth has flown the coop...
It's sad but true;
Honestly though in more ways than one
Age could just be the best thing to ever happen,
for me, and for you -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sounding I
I see my soul come galloping
making and patching my threading seams
embracing me in the gloaming
between twilight and evening
making new passages as the younger years
fall away.
I see my heart throbbing, mending
and renewing
even in a veil of past-time tears.
I see my youth standing by
in the cracked mirror
and curse how much of my outward identity is emprisoned
there
and the voice says counterpoint
'Don't drown in that mirror pool.'
I hear, voices, mostly my own
clamor down from its retreat
and reassert once again
'Why can I not be forever me
and not be betrayed
by times passages
and the views of me
others hold
who lack my life's memories
because they can only remember
the morning's cereal
whist I can recall
a life-time's banquet.
Yes, its time which is the barrier
I sometimes breach with stories
I tell my kids about the old days
how things were different
but they blank stare politely
and indulge dad's preoccupations
in irrelevancies, they themselves
can never know.
I feel my youth as if yesterday
explaining to them it took this long
to be me my youth again
but alas my renewed youth has become invisible
to them and other others
and I can hear them mouthing 'don't embarrass us
trying to be young again
look in the mirror; '
and I do and lecture it on its inadequacies
to reflect this new older, younger me.
Is this foolish, a chimera?
Or merely my own imagined and denied reflection.
But do I sound middle-aged and crotchety?
Maybe, but that is only sound
and not I.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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