“Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.” ~ Stanislaw Jerzy Lec
I received
a birthday card with that quote written in bold, colorful, stylish letters. After
reading it, I thought, I didn’t know art had to hurt this much. Really,
it seems that the older I get, the more things tear, stiffen, swell, and ache. Remember
your late teens and early twenties? Me neither, but I’ve heard that my gut and
bones didn’t hurt so much back then. Ah, sweet memories. Then again, I remember
how much I used to stress about worthless things and people, when I was
that age, so I guess it’s a tradeoff—a lot of pain for a bit of wisdom (or, at least, that’s what I will tell myself next time my
neuropathy makes self-eye-gouging seem like a good idea).
For today’s
optional prompt, my dear poets and storytellers, I invite you to write
poetry or prose inspired by the thoughts and feelings that brew to mind when you
read that “Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.”
Required: Add
the direct link to your response to Mister Linky. One post per participant,
please, 369 words maximum (excluding title), for prose and for poetry.
Optional: You
may share old or new pieces of poetry or prose, and you may write to the prompt
or to a topic of your choosing.
Requested (not compulsory but strongly recommended): Visit other poets and storytellers.
Read their words, and share what they brew out of
your mind.
for next week, Rommy will invite us to write poetry or prose about a book
we’ve read more than once.
photo by Rod Long on, Unsplash
