Community Poems – Please share your poems › Now we grow old › Reply To: Now we grow old
Trace the blinding lights to the fire,
and realize that the incandescent is opaque.
Hold the heat that melts your substance, and realize that what you are made of does not go away.
Follow the small as it becomes the massive, see how disorder repeats itself.
See how direction is wherever you are looking. Close your eyes and fall.
Sometimes a choice defines you. Choose to define a choice.