Maturity

 A stationary sense.
.
.
 as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
 Inaccurate, tired;
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful -
 Some say, desired.


And this must be the prime of life.
.
.
 I blink,
As if at pain; for it is pain, to think
 This pantomime
Of compensating act and counter-act
Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact
 My ablest time.

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