Entry LXXVIII – October

“But When I Became a Man…”

Raymond Holden

Now, being grown, I put away
The childish things that are no child’s;
Such as the thought that what men say
Can shrive them against natal wilds,
Such as the fear that others know
The secret hidden from my hope,
Such as the terror lest men grow,
In age, remaining dwarfs in scope.

Distinguished behind fogs of glass,
Self-laurelled for a state attained,
I sit and think the hours that pass
Admire the way my glass is stained.
And all the time those hours’ eyes,
Unused to man’s small shifts of sort
Not noticing my mind and size,
Name me a child in their report.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s