Seem to Have s Problem

I seem to have a problem

          Looking at my face.

It seems that thirty years have passed

          While I was lost in space.

 

Last week I just turned twenty,

          The day after, thirty-one…

Then suddenly the weekend,

          And my life was all but done.

 

I can’t recall one decade,

          Or in detail , any years.

Yet every face is clearly etched

          And labeled tears or cheers.

 

I walk a little slower,

          The twisted knee won’t mend.

This new pace is a blessing

          When limping towards the end.

 

If I could live life over,

          I’d probably do the same…

That happens when you follow the heart;

          The weak points still remain.