Allen Beilschmidt Sr. Poet Free verse

The River

I have walked this perilous path
for sixty-nine years. Behind me
a river runs along it. At first far off.

As the years progress, the path
grows harder; choked by weeds
and thistles; a hill ever steeper;

legs ever weary; mind ever
befuddled. I am beginning 
to feel the maniacal mouth

ready to engulf and overtake me.
Shall I wait, tracking timeworn memories
as the hill grows ever steeper;
weeds ever thicker; thistles ever

piercing senile skin?
I can feel the river's spray
upon my face now. 

I hear the pitiless 
laughter. I wait
resigned to my fate.

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Juliet Ligon May 19, 2019 at 11:55 AM I love how this poem flows like a river. Very nice.

Tom Cunningham May 16, 2019 at 1:02 PM Sadly as we get older tasks that we used to tackle with ease now become a lot harder for us. But that said we just keep going until we can do it no more although it takes a lot longer. Oh to be twenty again. Tom Allen Beilschmidt Sr. May 16, 2019 at 10:21 PM I agree Tom