No
prime
You’ll have no prime. Or, if you do
You’ll be one of a blessed few
Whose health complements happiness,
Whose beauty rises when you’re free
To live and love as you had hoped.
I had no prime. The best of me
Is now, or then, or soon, perhaps,
though my mind is prone to lapse,
my gut to grow, my legs to ache,
rogue hair to sprout, rough skin to dry
yet I am in a place called home.
Life was no better; nor was I.
You see, I never had a prime –
There was no glowing, golden time
When I was strong and
smart and brave
And had a healthy sense of calm
Which kept me steady when alone.
I never harnessed looks and charm
To win and climb, to earn my fill,
To bite down hard, to buy a thrill.
That age renowned to grant such gifts
Was seldom fruitful - there’s the truth.
Above all this, I’d have you know
prime is not synonymous with youth.
I have been fast, I have been bright,
I’ve drunk and danced on through the night.
I’ve laughed, I’ve sung, I’ve been acclaimed
For feats of body and of mind,
But each triumph stands distinct, alone.
Never were all the gifts combined.
Now, there are some, it’s true and clear,
Who have that all-embracing era,
When, wholly, they are at their best.
But, envy not this heightened state,
This aristeia, this so-called “zone”,
And envy not its bearers’ fate
For when it’s gone, it’s sorely missed.
Each grace ceases to exist,
Where, for others, grace is staged.
Each new thrill takes us by surprise.
We have no prime, but gladly know
A steady life of staggered highs.
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