Old Age

It comes not when it's wanted, because it's never wanted-- who would choose hanging folds of skin, a face creased with scores of age lines, feet speckled with spider veins, an aging heart that could yell 'Surprise!' any time it chose. An actress once said, 'Getting old is not for sissies'-- she was right. It takes guts to feel the gradual loosening of a once proud body, and the brain's slow softening. There is no glory in getting old: you are just a survivor of life's myriad tricks, all its accidents, illnesses, petty defeats and loss. And old age does not carry wisdom with it as you might expect-- there are many tart in youth still bitter in their slowing down decades, even hostile to the joys they might once have hoped to swim in, carefree.... So why must we get old? What use is it, other than nature making room for other beings to replace us? Still, why can't we live for centuries like old trees, or those big turtles found on that island with the funny name? Perhaps it is a way to teach us, to cure the young of their solipsism, to shear them of the innate vanity that comes of taut bodies and soft handsome faces-- then to plant the subtle fears that come with aging: the vulnerability of unlived dreams, trashed hopes, perhaps the quiet, persistent ache of a lost love... not to mention the fear of falling! So if you are a young reader of this old poet, you may ask, 'What? Nothing comes good of a long life? No hope at all?' Oh yes, something very good can come from a long decline, at least for those who choose to believe-- anticipation!