My Poetry: 30

Sorry, I don’t mean to bore.
Please be patient, I implore.

As I turn ten and score,
I think of what has come before,
And I hope for what is in store.

I’ve taken trips from shore to shore,
Even been abroad to explore.
I enjoy golf, not yelling “Fore”.
(And yes, I know that rhyme was poor.)

So why is it that my mind’s always at war?
Sometimes I wish I could just go out the door,
Instead I lie around all day on the floor.

There are days I wish I could go back to the times of yore.
What would I change if I started again in ’94?
Would I accomplish so much more?
Would I have found my own Lenore?

I have to remind myself of what I’m living for
And I’m coming to grips with who I am at my core.

Alas! Now we’ve built such a rapport,
I’m sorry, but I have no encore.
My youth: nevermore…nevermore.