becoming myself

My father said.
there's a time in your life
When you are more of yourself
Than ever before..
He was fifty two then.

Perhaps it was something
About the trees.
Yet not a single leaf
Was Vermilion

I thought he would live forever.
But even his heart held secrets.
The red roses of summer
glow only for an instant.

Perhaps my time to be me
Is now.
In my dreams it is never winter.
Yet only a single leaf is vermillion
Passing time fades summer
to be a single day.

Are we brittle and
fragile like eggshells.?
When we fall do cracks
appear on our soul.

Does everything
have cracks.?
Without cracks
How can the light get in?

Do I finally understand it all?
Am I now me?
In my dreams
It is never winter.