You’re only as old as you feel some say.
How will it feel on your eightieth birthday?
Everything’s quieter and harder to see.
Not everyone, just seems like it to me.
Portions are smaller as we sit and dine.
When we do drink it’s but one glass of wine.
No longer can we just turn on a dime.
And it gets harder to walk a straight line.
Your sleep is disruptive if it’s like mine.
Going to the bathroom time after time.
Get off your soap box, step onto my cloud.
Life is still better than wearing a shroud.
If you’ve reached your seventies as of late,
Thank your Creator for life can be great.
No timecards to punch, no bosses to please,
Life is to live as each moment you cease.
decision Buddha
decide there is no mission
i hate light
they will ever speak
never spear my ink's
my ink's compass
truist
again, decide we aren't a mission
tall clouds can't be ware?
limp and mundane wags
know feedbacks
concepts?
forty twenty seven seven sentences
won many to still your next kick
kicks, gone
out of timecards
my autumns a grain
only a single grain
know fame
just independence
the laws and codes
to take life
and move forward
after death called
dishonoring his beauty
my idols timecards
his tickets paid
pta debts and laughter
to be the father
i look to be a boy from
knowing how his world ends
and cheating with you, again
please yourself for once
keep your hands off
of us
so he can't see me
save myself
chandeliers hung by dead feathers
cannon balls of years when time hated fairly
left over promises i'm not friends with
getting lept out
hanging death
to find a friend
running away
marrying the wash out
battling for empty
filling up the old crimes
inside my healing head
to destroy their evidence
useless when its good
too ugly for views
prisons too important
for me, the left overs
i was the addiction
now another contraception
hailing ghosts
tangled in timecards
under hung
and still voting
to take my spots
Pulling and pushing and dancing up and down
Like monkeys no one is watching but the behaved crowd
Who paid to expect what they came to see and get their moneys worth
In a humble and normative way as the rest of their fellow neighbors
Would brag about what places to visit and crave
The onlookers are consumers who come out during the day
Only when time allows them away from their computer and
Obligations and time with their families off the clock
And race against time to outstretch the day’s moments into
Lasting memories they rush to create
And be in the moment somehow
At the same time they wish to obscure and automate
With their own helpless hands and hearts they give their all
Of all they have to give to what they’re allowed to predict
And in these moments they plan for themselves and everyone
Else that they love and care about enough to sit down
With and talk as if time stopped ticking
Oh wouldn’t it be a dream of us in a world
That kept no clocks, timecards or mortgages to bear.
I watched as they acted as though they were God themselves,
Proud like a peacock with their diplomas on the shelves,
Always looking down their nose at the lost, thinking they themselves held the only key,
Like the Pharisee’s of old, these are the ones who need to take a knee.
But they were so full of their selves to even have a clue,
And forgetting that they themselves would be judged just as harshly as me and you.
I guess some things time never seems to change,
Just maybe the names and faces look a little strange.
Then there are those that really seem to care,
And go to great links to help those in need and really try to share.
And these are the ones God blesses and sits aside their rewards,
As they are put to the test sometimes fairly easy but on the average their tests prove
pretty hard.
These are the ones that seek out the lonely, the needy, and the spiritually lost,
And it’s not a one time thing, it’s ongoing and they absorb the heft of the cost.
These are the shepherds, the peacemakers, that gather in the flock,
They hired on to do a job and their timecards are punched in on our Fathers clock.
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