Listening to the old
songs of young men
takes me back
to a time when
everything was new
there was nothing to fear
and I suffered the illusion
that everything was clear.

Resolved to get
to the bottom of things
but found things have no bottom
learned a lot of lessons
but promptly forgot ’em.
Now all I know with certainty
is that nothing’s certain,
but I’ve grown adept at faking it
like the man behind the curtain

I’m comfortable not knowing
playing hit or miss
it alleviates the pressure
guess ignorance is bliss
until new songs
from men grown old
reminds me how
it all unfolds


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