I have never heard an older person

really share what they know,

it might be a bit of advice

from their lofty position of experience

but I find, it is really difficult to really know anyone.

If I do get to know someone, and I spend enough time with them

they seem like they are trapped in time

the same circulating stories and beliefs

disappointments or sorrows.

We are determined to leave this living behind

not to get trapped in the patterns of our father

not to give a lecture in front of a class

to tell young people how great we are

but we find ourselves doing it

anyway

the young make fun of the old

“I’ll never be like that.”

but the world molds us in mysterious ways

so slowly, we can’t see the change

I fear what I have become

I don’t have real faith

When we are young, we can’t wait to be,

then we are told to be something,

like footprints in the sand

or a letter to our son

the past is always making a mark on the future

and if we examine who we are

we are so covered in marks

we can’t see ourselves.

4 thoughts on “The Lost Letter of Who I Am

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