It is all a lie,
enclosed in my cell,
each brick, fixed and tempered
in the kiln of dishonesties and untruths
Derived from hiding behind
a shy adolescent persona
Which needs to take charge,
be brash,
boldly storm the ramparts.

No longer does its mind race
upon the track of
nefarious wanderings.
It plods along, trying
to describe the
day-to-day occurrences.

Is this what wisdom and age bring?
No! It cannot be.
It wishes to continue to fly, and believes it can.
Is not love the great provider, the last contender?
Is not the challenge to learn again to love?

Or was it that I loved so many things then and
sexual love was just one of the many forms it took?
So why can I not find it again?
Somehow, through the denial of my love for a women,
my love is denied and denied me.

Can it be that through this love I can find freedom?
Like passing back through the eye of a needle
Or a forging ahead to greater achievements.

I will do it.
I know I will.