Sombre Youth

When I will grow old
my hair shines with a silver hue,
my walk will have slowed down
from youth’s quick long strides,
my eyes will have grown weary with
despair due to prolonged dreaming.

My heart might bore scars, wounds
ready to be touched to revive again,
that sensitive boy in the frame
might succeed tackling myriad countenances;
now my mind yearns for knowledge
may I be conferred wisdom, not rigid perspective.

Maturity might teach me to embrace
mornings against which my youth led resistance
stands a wall of malady before adulthood
hope I grow old in my dreams.