The Victorious Old
They win not by victory o'er their enemies,
for their enemies are invincible, yet they fight:
aging can be resisted, hemmed in for a time,
but its rolling is relentless, thinning the skin,
shrinking the brain, thickening the arteries....
They are partisans, the victorious old,
fighting, alone, a relentless guerilla war
against one enemy, Old Age, who takes
everyone prisoner, if they wait long enough,
while the other foe, their last enemy,
takes no prisoners at all....
And this final and most heartless enemy?
Death always wins, there are no exceptions,
but the victorious old give it no joy--
some even smile at Mr. Death, the light in
their eyes still burning as their souls sense
the oncoming freedom, the smell of Heaven--
and Death, never happy, sulks away....
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