We start with more.
But then, as we age,
there’s a lessening.
Where there once
were 300 bones,
there are now 206.
Where there once was cartilage,
now it’s fused and stiff.
What used to be flexible,
now refuses to be rebirthed.
What once allowed for rapid growth
now considers itself mature.
And how do we get it back,
that willingness to grow?
And how do we unstiffen?
And how do we unknow?
Love your poem and the questions that make us listen deeply….a voice inside whispers: the willingness to let go and let go and let go….
oh I love the way you phrase this …and let go and let go and let go …