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Designated Driver

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If you should notice any spelling or grammatical errors...PLEASE...point them out to me, as I am compiling these poems for my new book. Thank you, Emile.

Old age often feels like a waiting game for life’s end is stealthily approaching. And your allotted years have all but came now the shadow of death is encroaching. You start to look back rather than ahead memories outweigh a new tomorrow. And when the rope of hope is but a thread you view your past with envy and sorrow. Strangely enough you don't feel old inside yet every day time keeps ticking away. And unruly tongues are hard to abide for the young won’t heed what old people say. When death is life's designated driver the pending crash ensures no survivor. (Sonnet) Sept. 22, 2018

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 9/24/2018 12:40:00 AM
Well done, Emile.
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Emile Pinet
Date: 9/24/2018 9:43:00 AM
Thanks Line, I appreciate your comments my friend, Emile.
Date: 9/23/2018 1:12:00 AM
A very good metaphor, and a well written piece.
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Emile Pinet
Date: 9/23/2018 8:45:00 AM
Thanks so much Lawrence, I appreciate your comments my friend, Emile.