The Date of Birth (a poem)

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We are all older,
Older than we were last year,
Last month, last minute.
We are the additive collection
Of cells and memory.
Each moment birthing another of each,
Only to have another cell destroyed,
Another memory erased in the next.


Who am I?
The one that is old and young,
Remembered and forgotten.
Who are we?
Whose time has passed,
Whose time arrives,
Whose time awaits.


Somone may ask,
“How old are you today?”
And really…it depends.
For the answer is but a question:
When did you realize you were alive?

Created: Aug 14, 2012

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