I am too old 47

Written by: Autumn Ehrhardt

47.
Once the fine rocking artist 
Look outward for the same wavelength
And forget its name.

Was it that my hands became dry
Or I wish for the soft skin of youth
Would shine on my worn loniliness

Do my possibilities now need justification?
Because my fancy is a maligned lack of reason,
A twisted comfort to my old fixed point.