Poem-A-Day: Day 210

Sonnet #50 (Golden Anniversary)

Years spent doing the needed things in life,
and nothing spent on the remaining parts,
yields little more than an existence rife
with no appreciation of the arts.
Yet, somewhere lost within there something starts
to boil over, to seize the momentum
and from the moment willfully departs
a roar that leaves the moment pleasantly numb,
awaiting flashing ardor that should come;
instead releases quiet to the sky
leaving not more than sour tastes succumbed
by the searing rage to give up and die.
  The years are nothing more than what is made
  with skillful hands of those that cease to fade.