I watch an old man walking, his fragile legs barely take him forward. I watch him bent and crooked. watch his worn out eyes. Watch his skin, scared with wrinkles and purple veins. watch his white hair and pale features.
Think about his day.. about what is possible.
What is possible for him.. and what for me? How very different.
I wonder what he would trade to be me for a day?
I wonder what he would trade for this body? I wonder what he would trade for these legs? I wonder what he would trade for these sharp eyes, and bronze skin, and handsome face? What would he trade for my run? What would he trade for my voice? What would he trade for my dance? What would he trade for my strength? What would he trade for my lust?
I think about how many days of youth he once had.. how he was once too a god. And I wonder if he knew it then, like I know it right now.
these days are sacred.
(Andrew Tipton)
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