Passion of My Youth

I miss the passion of my youth,
Or is it the youth of my passion
Which once sprang forth with such vigor
That it shot out heaven bound.
Now, it churns and boils
Rolling beneath the surface like seismic waves
Moving that which sees it not
But feels it all the same.

Middle aged and seasoned with the fires of life
It need not erupt on every occasion
To have it's desired effect.
Yes, I miss the youth of my passion…
Yet as its twilight looms I know its greatest force
Is yet to be felt.