The Creep
It’s come upon me, and I think that it
began once I had taken my first leap
into adulthood, when the fruit of youth
was still so sweet . . . but then began the creep.
My teens were finished. Never more would I
regain youth’s freshness even though I tried
with exercise, cosmetics and diet.
It mattered not. My zenith time had died.
The magic potion coarsing through the blood
of us all - it constantly is dying.
That thing -that special zing- that helps us thrive
leaks out of us; it’s not worth denying.
Hair grays; diseases come and joints may ache.
I slather lotions on and tint my hair.
Ahead of me, death beckons, and “aging”
(the creep) has got me more than halfway there!
Sept. 24, 2020
For Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest of Constance La France
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