Good die rolled

If I was brave enough to die younger
I'd be prolific
Something worrisome in a world
That ties its life to children
As if they were sages
A gift from the ages.
Perhaps the older me to cynical, clinical
Hanging on the threads
Treading water into apathy toward
Recognition, never realized
And yet I sit high on a throne
Of following other ambitions
Ones that pay bills and builds
A better world one person at a time.
Alas if I had given up
I'd never known these luxuries
This idyllic existence
Out on the ridge that once felt like a razors edge, worn blunt now through the beard hairs it has peeled away.
I gray and wouldn't trade it
Energized by the potential.

Know this on your darkest day
There is hope
When you are lowest
There is only one way to go.

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