wide-eyed wonder

My head just started hurting again,
Somewhere behind my left eye,
Not sure if it is sinus pain,
Or the pain of living my life in misery,
Confined to an 8-by-8 cell,
8 hours a day, 5 days a week,
My very own personal hell.
And so it goes, so I stay, chained to my desk,
For the rest of the day, but it’s alright, it’s o.k.,
the gods decided to dump slush on us,
Another wasted day, not able to skate,
Nausea increasing as the minutes fade,
I have been averaging about a six pack,
Most everyday, since falling off that wagon.
Maybe the dt’s are kicking in,
Sleeping and drinking, nothing else,
For the last few weeks, since I was skate-free,
Only thing really worth doing and seeing,
All else just pales, nothing brings any real joy,
Life has become mediocre, just a chore,
But skating stops time, much more than just a toy.
Maybe I should have picked something easier,
Something simple and free of pain, but these are just words,
Representing concepts, they only suggest the real,
So whatever it is that makes you live and feel,
Whatever takes your breath away,
Reminds us of the wonder of youth,
Is what you should pursue, what you should chase.
the magic of youth is in wide-eyed wonder,
In living life in the moment,
Boundless energy reflecting an ego unbound,
By the ties and traps of advancing age,
Being and living gifts of creation,
Kicking and screaming into our numbered tomorrows,
Unfettered by life’s lies and wicked sorrows.
So tomorrow begins anew, skate or not,
Fresh slates, new page, need to forge ahead,
Faith and reason, hand-in-hand, upon the cusp,
Open-hearted, open to my life, open to change,
the only constant, the only thing that can be trusted,
So I will start again, laundry list of reasons,
To welcome the new day dawning before my eyes.
So skate often, skate hard, skate fast,
Shred the surly bonds of the everyday,
Open yourself to whatever comes your way,
Grinding across time and memory,
Skate and defy gravity, defy the social constraints,
that packs us into cages, bleeding us of our youth,
Live to the fullest, before we are reduced to ashes,
Anything less, anything short of that, is just tragic.