Good Old Fashioned

Split Screens

What man given the opportunity to live it again would not.
For then he could live it twice.
In parallel.
And view himself from the other side.

It is that newness.
It will always seem that fresh.
For no matter how old the man,
He is always new to life.

And in age he expects wisdom.
Looks skywards in expectation.
Unaware.
As years can only be a carrier.
And not simply the rule.

Yet the romantic strums.
Plays his mandolin from sheet.
And sings divine that regardless,
He would have it no other way.

Perhaps this is the way.
To live it again would be to lie.
Perhaps to play unknown notes.
But I dare not turn the sand.

For only the fear of losing a touch.
For anger at not grasping tighter.
And now I see me forever.
Reflected in those eyes.

Those beautiful eyes.