I enjoy the getting old,
The long years past, the winters cold,
The knowledge there, the stories told.
I enjoy the getting old.
I look back on life today
On all who we try to lay blame,
To all I’ve helped along the way,
Who played victim, and who played the game.
Remembering places, remembering the people.
There, that church. That one tall steeple.
These places have memories just as feeble,
As those who once lived there and called themselves people.
One last look at that tower, that spire.
On top of that one I did nearly expire,
When we ran from the blue and red fire.
Now from these memories I must retire.
Some say that I’m not there yet.
Still long to go before I’m let,
To rest my weary mind I’ll bet,
With so many chances to watch the sun set.
And I am the man who’s gotten this old,
By learning when to be brave, and when to be bold,
In all this my whole story’s not told,
Of how just much I enjoy the getting old.
This poem is about my looking back on my life, where I’ve been, where and who I am. The line of the church refers to the chapel in St. Ignatius Montana. My mother took me and my siblings there once or twice and I could just spend hours there admiring the beautiful work done on the inside of that church. The verse about the tower is about one night in downtown Missoula, when me and one of my best friends were nearly arrested for criminal trespass (the blue and red fire refers to the police car lights, though we didn’t actually run from the police.) when we climbed the to the roof of one of the tallest buildings downtown. We were let go with a warning and a ticket, best $115 I’ve ever spent by the way. Ah, boredom!