If I lived a hundred years what then?
Walking into countless dark and seemingly endless nights.
Lying down in dens filled with fantasy and dream.
Would I still enjoy the dawn and everything it brings?
Would I tire of seeing the sun rise over morning hills?
I doubt I would, but this I know.
From whence I came there I will go.
If only time could speak, what stories would be told.
Of drifting e’er the edge of life, while gently growing old.
Is this how time is going to be? Listening to things I will never see?
This is how I spend my time, my waking hours, 100 years.
Watching my shadow hide behind sunshine, existing in the sublime.
Living a century, one day at a time.
~Jay Olson
