Contrast

There was a time when I scurried

Books of poetry as I worried

Through the corridors of youth

Trying to get to the truth 

Now  I carry the lines in my head 

Noting the worldly ways instead

My words were plenty earlier

But have now become wearier 

Life has taught 

the most trite lesson

That like everything 

poetry is not everything

Earlier, poetry bloomed everywhere 

like the giggles of newly weds 

Now the lines lie next to each other 

in tired marital beds.