Boyhood

for Rebeca

Time.  Friendship.  Love.  Life.  What does it all mean?

   Who knows?  We’re winging it—the drunk, the fool,

The mother who still loves men like a teen,

   And every teacher that you’ll have in school.

None of us know the answer, so go make

   An answer of your own, and try to feel

The timeless in each moment, try to break

   Life open to find out what makes it real.

That “what” is us.  The days are ours to fill.

   And even if we own what time has sent us,

Years from now, all that we’ll remember will

   Be one-half trivial, one-half momentous.

      That’s what life is: moments that pain and please you

      And let you go the moment that they seize you.

 

 

Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells