Eighteen

just a passing of rites. count the lines.

No matter how I look at it, it's still just a silly little number.
Yet it's still so menacing, staring me down on my approach.
I could just stand around and, like a child, make a blunder,
or I could dare to be, and make an undaunted encroach.
There's only twenty-six days 'til my hourglass runs out;
bereft of the crawling sands of time, I sit in patience
and watch every painfully slow minute slip away and about;
this last bit of time has seemed so uniform, so paceless.
I don't quite understand; is it the significance or the pressure?
It's a venture that makes the coming that much harder.
The age is creeping up, and its pangs are all but plain pleasure...
At least, for me; I don't want to grow up to become a martyr.
I'm a bit too old now, but never too much to decieve;
much as we all are, I'm still young enough for make believe.
The months turn into weeks, and from there into days,
and hours and minutes and seconds quickly escape,
leaving me behind to stand up to one small number:
Eighteen.

Reviews

[Kimmee Jean]

dude...you sound old...like "I-JUST-REACHED-MY-EIGHTIES-" old!