Watching as the boats sail toward the sun. I sit and wonder where they will go. To a distant port, Maybe shanghi Maybe Mexico, Time it seems to contrast the differance in us all.The last of the bad ass boys.The old men growing old. I tangled in my youth with the joy youth behold. Days they pass so quickly and years travel past. Lines now mark my face. Now my youth didn't last. And though I don't feel I'm older I know that I have changed.I suppose it was all prearranged. I've watched as those I grew up with seem to pass away. And soon I know it's coming. My own dieing day.
Originally Posted On Site: 2008-07-13 19:05:25
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