A poem about ripening into life

By the time I’m 80, I’ll finally be vegan
By 85, a dancer, wild and free.
By 143, I’ll stand firm like a tree,
stretching without apology
towards only my sun.

At 189, I won’t eat or sleep much anymore
I see myself there
a tortoise, slow and wise.
“Yes…” I’ll say, slight grin, wrinkled eyes —
“Yes, I recall that there from long ago
oh the drama
back when time passing
gave texture
to the way things seemed.”

Things are so much quieter now
I’ll reflect at 199 —
so much life lived
tasting
trying
wet tears long spent.

At 267, all of life will be touch.
soft hands of great great great grandchildren
their laughter at play.
I will be only my smile then.
Hands and a smile.
Just touching
and blessing.

At 294, perhaps I’ll grow tired
of this long held illusion
that there is you and I.
That we find ourselves only
right here and right now
That aging and loving
are not one and the same.

By the time I’m 300 —
I might be ready to fly.

Tantrika, hands-on healer, sex educator. Weekly newsletter via Sarenity, my personal blog. Contact and services at https://ko-fi.com/sarene

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