Tristan Robert Lange

Twenty-Five

I try to remember when I was twenty-five,

It was during a time when I felt more alive.

Truthfully, back then, I would have set out to strive

To simply succeed in life and avoid the dive.

Meaning, I would do anything to build our hive

To watch it expand and even more than survive.

But as the years went on that life didn’t arrive—

Well, it did in part, but saying more would contrive—

I can’t understand why anyone would deprive

The water and nutrients needed to revive

A past future hope that now sits in the archive.

This is a mystery of which I can’t derive.

So, here we sit, my love, at our own twenty-five,

The years passing away—lost—while we are alive.

It’s in moments like this I think to take a drive

Out to the sea of something—never to arrive.