I can’t imagine.
Too much of it I can’t imagine.
At sixty-three, after a roller coaster life
lived raggedly, rife with ups and downs,
prosperity and poorhouse alike,
joy and brokenness of all kinds…
well, almost all.
There’s still too much of it unlived.
and my imagination never keeps up
About this poem.
First of all, the picture is not mine. It was taken by Garry Winogrand and was on display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.
The older I get, the more I experience, the more I learn, and the more I realize I will never know. And the more I realize judgment is useless. We never know enough. Our own lives are far from perfect. It’s enough to try and make my own way.
I’ve never seen anything good come of judgment. Only with love. But then again, perhaps I don’t know enough.