Age Comes To All
It comes to us all this thing called age
insidiously creeping up over the decades
surprisingly catching us unaware
we all know it is coming, its just when?
When do we realise our joints are stiff
and that we have grown so tediously slow?
looking back it seems like yesterday
when I was in full bloom of sweet youth
It is not the aches that I find hardest
it is the infernal time it takes
to complete the simplest task
hours doing what was done in a hour or so
Yes with age comes wisdom, sure, fine
I prefer flexibility instead of seizure.
Yet for us poets the greatest fear of all
is what if we lose our minds? Our Soul?
Would we know but be locked behind bars?
able to understand all that is happening
but be unable to articulate our thoughts?
if so the doctor saying "est La Morte"
Would for me be the greatest release
how could I live in a world locked away
unable to comprehend the written word
that so inspires and stimulates my mind.
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