Fifty 

This is the last day of my forties. 

Tomorrow I'm a half a century old. 

Seems monumental in a way, 

I would of denied it if told 

I'd make it this far. 

Hell, thirty was a surprise, 

forty was unreal, 

at fifty I should be wise, 

but I'm not,

only been through so many things. 

Nothing's ever paid off and that stings. 

Never got a job to ease my later years. 

Never found a woman to calm my fears 

of a growing inadequacy

in a world that demands 

servitude to a pace 

rapidly changing where it stands.

Tomorrow I'm fifty, today I say farewell 

to the years of my youth, I lived so well, 

so evil, so wicked and yet so pure. 

Overcoming without help most every fear. 

Now almost fifty, monumental like I said, 

I died a dozen times but I'm still not dead. 

Lived in nice houses, shacks and behind jail bars. 

Made my share of money, driven nice cars, 

fathered beautiful children 

still shooting for the stars. 

Fought in a war and dabbled in the arts. 

Stood at the pulpit, broke a few hearts. 

Seen some things nobody should see 

yet still I marvel 

when the sun touches the sea.

Soon to be fifty and still can't define 

the god I saw once only a inch from my mind. 

The meaning of it all, I'm sure of this 

but just out of reach like a lover you miss, 

so close you can feel her kiss 

but when you open your eyes 

she fades into the mist,

where dreams like past years 

cease to exist.

by Dave 

(I wrote this 13 years ago)