Reflections from Middle Age

I am tired of this race

This endless race

With hurdles to jump

And goals to embrace

I am tired of feeling not quite good enough

And burdened down with all this stuff

That means nothing to me

I suddenly find

I have no wish to be so defined

With a trophy shelf on my wall

And a sense of beating the rest

Of being the best

Of winning this race, this ridiculous race

When the sun is shining in a blue sky

With cotton wool clouds way up high

And the birds are chattering and the grass is green

Why should I bother with how I seem

To others who don’t matter

In the greater scheme

Should I not stop instead and watch

As the cat stretches out on the wall

Turns twice, yawns and falls asleep in a fluffy ball

Should I not lift my face to the sky

To feel the sun warm upon the lids of my eyes

And listen as the lorikeets fly by.

For in the end, we all find ourselves in the same place

And life, it turns out, is not a race

There is no starters gun at the beginning

No winners tape at the end

Just the sombre funeral march

And the return to the dark

And handbags and awards turn largely to dust

Along with your bones

Your memories

Your glory lust

If everything passes in just the same way

Then life is a journey, a momentary stay

In a vast landscape

Waiting to be explored

And moments signpost it all

Like

Feeling the pulse of your lover’s heart beat

Beneath your cheek

As you lie, head on chest, hand in hand

At the end of the day