The whole idea of it makes me feel <br />like I'm coming down with something, <br />something worse than any stomach ache <br />or the headaches I get from reading in bad light-- <br />a kind of measles of the spirit, <br />a mumps of the psyche, <br />a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul. <br /> <br />You tell me it is too early to be looking back, <br />but that is because you have forgotten <br />the perfect simplicity of being one <br />and the beautiful complexity introduced by two. <br />But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. <br />At four I was an Arabian wizard. <br />I could make myself invisible <br />by drinking a glass of milk a certain way. <br />At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince. <br /> <br />But now I am mostly at the window <br />watching the late afternoon light. <br />Back then it never fell so solemnly <br />against the side of my tree house, <br />and my bicycle never leaned against the garage <br />as it does today, <br />all the dark blue speed drained out of it. <br /> <br />This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself, <br />as I walk through the universe in my sneakers. <br />It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends, <br />time to turn the first big number. <br /> <br />It seems only yesterday I used to believe <br />there was nothing under my skin but light. <br />If you cut me I could shine. <br />But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, <br />I skin my knees. I bleed.<br /><br />Billy Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-turning-ten/
