Wednesday, December 12, 2018


Every day I grow a little more "old."
I become what "old" should be.
I fall into the dictate.

This is a choice
Perhaps even a concession
Perhaps a conviction.

The choice, concession, conviction
is freeing
It hides me away.

Me who had youthful lusts
Me who had ambitions
Me, I, who had hoped for love and fame.

I can escape now into old age
and succumb to contentment.

I was one who, as Hopkins states,
was marked when young
marked by death
marked for pain
And even in my youth I was never young.

That is what bothers me
I am to become old, having never been young.
I am to slump toward death, having never lived.

I was lovely once
But only for an instant.
I grew fat.
Loving eyes poured upon me once
But the wrong soul peered out at me.
I have felt joy some three or four times.
Mine has been an embattled life
And I fought valiantly, though badly.

Since youth
death and holiness were poured upon me
Against death, I fought.
For holiness, I fought.
When young.
But now...old age has come.

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