maturity [Theme] Page 2

Young men are bubbling and growing for miles,
Mature obese and rare speeches.
And when, what they remembered, they were silent
The old ones are wiser.

In her youth, she was forced to be prudent, in her more mature years she became a dreamer - which is so natural with an unnatural beginning.

For a long time there has been silence in my chest.
As in my youth, I am not madly eager to fight.
In the cherished ideal faded hope,
And, distant thunderstorms hearing a rumble,
I'm glad when they pass by.

The harsh truth: if a hypocritical girl once seriously deceived her faithful friend, she will deceive in the second. Not always age changes the mercantile girl for the better. If she has in her genes to lie and fool good people, then it is unlikely that future maturity will lead her to realize the vileness of past actions.

It was time - we were entering into life.
Mighty, firm foot:
Doubts evil did not bother
Then our mind is young.
Dreams proudly called us
To live for others, to serve others,
And we all fervently desired.
It's not useful to live a life.
But those years have long since passed;
Life went on as usual -
And with the past we forever parted
And life healed differently.
We have forgotten our wishes:
They passed for us like dreams,
And our past dreams
We became strange and funny.

His thoughts went back to the time when he was very young. Then he talked a lot and loudly, dressed smartly and foamed with ideas. Most of his ideas were to quickly make him rich, and all without exception either were on the verge of legitimacy, or put him in conflict with the law, or turned out to be impracticable. After all, he had to earn his own bread as a petty employee.

What connects the past, present and future of each being? Does childhood breed maturity, or does maturity forge childhood? We do not know the meaning of our existence, and we will not know for a long time, but we must live with what we know.

They have already passed the age when they are hovering in dreams.

Beautiful childhood, youth is good,
And maturity is a thought maturation.
All these stages you pass slowly
And know that old age is good,
When Your Consciousness Is Strong
And the power of youth is replaced by the power of knowledge.

Under the burden of days, under the snow and rain.

... Mr. Roland Britt, thirty-seven years old (unknown age, at the crossroads between yesterday and tomorrow).

He tried with all his might to erring away the wisdom wandering nearby, which reminded of the age, weaknesses, and frailty of human life. Wisdom does not give understanding, it gives only sorrow. Wisdom is not maturity, but helpless, weak old age. And he does not need knowledge that carries wisdom, because they make him routine routine.

And it is Maturity that heals in us Jealousy and our little girl

After all, all human life, in fact, is a slow dying. It is not even we who are dying - the world around us gradually fades. In the first years of our life, and it is in its prime. (Isn't that why childhood memories are so vivid?) We are surrounded by close creatures - father, mother, grandmothers, grandfathers, friends from kindergarten and school come for them, first love blossoms. These are the cornerstones on which the small universe of each of us is based. In childhood and adolescence, it is completely real and tangible, while all people dear to us are with us among the living. With each of them we are connected by myriads of the finest threads: common thoughts, shared vacations, light, dizzy novels, an outstretched hand. Weaving together memories and experiences, these people weave the silk yarn of our reality, our world, our life.
But the years go by, and they - one by one - leave us, turn into ethereal ghosts and find their last refuge in our memories. Trying to make our native voice sound even for a fraction of a second in our head, trying to return from oblivion the charm of their smile, we can spend hours in vain looking at their photographs. The pain of losing a loved one cannot be overcome; only time dulls it.
And with each new death, our Universe is shifting more and more into another dimension - into the plane of our fantasies, the plane of our memory. It goes into the past, we live less and less for today, and more and more immerse ourselves in yesterday, which is indistinctly and vaguely imprinted in our consciousness.
The first to leave are grandmothers and grandfathers, the dog that was with us while we were growing up dies, and our childhood dies with them. Their death is a milestone: after it, the so-called maturity begins.
Then it is the turn of the parents; when they leave us, it will mean that adulthood is over, and we froze on the threshold of old age. And then one of the long-gray school friends or the toothless, but with the same enthusiasm of the university comrades who were smiling at us, dies; finally, a husband or wife.
This is the last sign: it's time for us to prepare too. Because our whole world, like a dying huge ocean liner, is plunging into the abyss of the past. Dark waters will drop by drop fill the cabins of memories, inhabited by the images of colleagues, army colleagues, phantoms of fathers and brothers, mothers and sisters ... They will rush into luxurious banquet halls, where we celebrated our little triumphs: successfully passed school exams, hard-won admission to the university, love victories, weddings and births of children, expected job promotions for years. The holds, where the black hours of our life are dumped, will also be flooded: we would like to batten them down tightly, but memory gapes with cracks, the edges of which will never converge.
[…]
... When the waves of oblivion reach the captain's bridge and lick our feet, it will only be necessary to salute with dignity for the last time and silently close our eyes. And then we, in turn, will become the borderline that will mark the end of childhood for our grandchildren and the beginning of old age for our children.