≈ 5 min read · August 7, 2026
See him there, cold and grey,
Trying now to laugh and play.
No, he does not know the way.
He began to live too late.
Fate, that stern and silent hag,
Let him fill his little bag,
Let him chase the golden key,
Let him call it destiny.
He had the hunger, sharp and bad,
Mad for money, blindly mad.
Not for meaning. Not for joy.
Not for love, nor girl, nor boy.
He would not let a grief disturb him.
Would not let a song divert him.
Would not let the world convert him
From the altar where he served.
Every hour, every day,
He postponed the human way.
“I shall live when I have won.
I shall rest when work is done.
I shall laugh when I am free.”
So he chained himself willingly.
Idealism lit his eyes,
But it also made him blind.
He loved the dream more than the deed,
The perfect life more than the need.
He feared the stain of trying wrong,
So he stayed untested long.
He thought freedom meant delay.
Keeping every choice away.
But freedom is not standing still
At the doorway of the will.
Freedom comes when men decide,
Step through fear, and choose a side.
He feared failure, yes, but more,
He feared the ordinary door.
Feared the common human road,
Feared the humble, daily load.
So he dressed his doubt as thought,
And called inaction something taught.
He said, “Not yet. The time will come.”
But not yet made his spirit numb.
He weighed the risk, then weighed it twice.
He polished doubt and called it wise.
He watched the years go marching past,
Still waiting for a life at last.
The roses burned beside his way,
But he had no hour to stay.
Clouds were woven, gold and white.
Birds were spilling notes of light.
The clover bent beneath the bees,
The wind was preaching through the trees.
But he could spare no time for flowers,
No rest beneath the breathing bowers,
No gaze at skies that healed the eyes,
No foolish joy, no sweet surprise.
He rushed, and rushed, and rushed along,
Forgetting life itself is song.
Now the banks obey his name.
Streets and houses feed his fame.
Stocks and ledgers, rents and shares,
All the fruit of all his cares.
He has climbed near to the top,
But still his wanting will not stop.
And yet, with little in my hand,
I would not trade with that old man.
For what is gold, if gold has cost
The springtime that the heart has lost?
Look at him today.
He has come back to play.
He has come back to spring skies,
But spring wears another guise.
Winter stands where roses grew.
The birds are gone. The brook is blue
With ice, not song. The fields are bare.
The leaves lie dead in the bitter air.
He has gold enough to buy
Houses, names, and praise, and pride.
But not one morning of his youth.
Not one wild and laughing truth.
Not one failure quickly spent.
Not one brave experiment.
He sees it now, too late, too clear.
The life he feared was always near.
The ordinary human thing,
To choose, to fail, to rise, to sing.
He learns, at last, what doubt can do.
It saves a man from failure, true.
But saving him from failure’s flame,
It saves him also from his name.
From love. From risk. From open doors.
From all the lives that might be yours.
So step up now.
Do not wait.
Do not bargain long with fate.
If success is far away,
And failure marks the road today,
Then fail faster. Learn the cost.
Better scars than seasons lost.
For action has a moving grace,
Even when it falls on its face.
And doubt, though clever, clean, and bright,
Can freeze the soul in endless night.
Life is not a pile of gold.
Life is not a tale retold
By men who waited to begin
Until the perfect hour came in.
The hour is rough.
The hour is plain.
It comes with risk.
It comes with pain.
It asks your hand.
It asks your breath.
It asks you not to rehearse death.
Choose before the music ends.
Choose your work.
Choose your friends.
Choose the road and bear the load.
Choose the seed before it’s sowed.
For spring is brief.
The birds take wing.
Youth can sing, and must sing.
And he who waits for flawless skies
May wake with winter in his eyes.
See him there, cold and grey,
With all his gold, yet poor today.
He would pay, and pay, and pay,
If time would turn the other way.
But time will not.
The debt is due.
The door he feared has closed from view.
He owns the world, yet stands outside.
He did not choose.
He only tried
To keep all choices open wide.
And say,
That was the lie.
That was the cost.
That was the gold.
That was the loss.
He cannot play.
