Lamentations At An Ancient Banquet

 

For so many years
I’ve been a bench
For weary souls to rest
Share the worn out dreams
Reveal their tired secrets
Toss the burdens away
Lay them on my shoulders
Bathe in the comfort of my words
But the weight has buckled
I have grown tired
I look into my windows
See an old man waiting
Just waiting…..
It’s my turn to sit
I’m tired of begging for scraps at my own table
I want to dine at the ancient banquet

Lamentations At An Ancient Banquet
It’s my time to be sitting
On a bench of salvation
Instead I waste my time
With self reflective meditation
And self inflicted medication
I know I’m merely waiting
Just can’t work out why
Looking for the answers
As if written in the sky
Shaking off the midnight fog
Looking deep inside my eyes
Granite tears fall in the cracks
Things I don’t wanna recognize
Tombstones in my side view mirror
Angels floating in my front view path
A Pale Horse saddled lays in wait
The devil smiles and seethes in wrath
I’m not ready yet
But its getting late
So I wait
Further up the road
So I can unload

Tired of all the irritating hating so impulsive and degrading. Little minds overcompensating smart minds fall deflating. No creating or thoughtful debating as for me I’m only waiting. Waiting and anticipating its so god damn mind frustrating.
Before my eyes my life is flashing from all the bashing time has fashioned while inside my head is thrashing from rehashing all the baggage I kept stashing and the shit I left behind.
Now I’m blind
The running kind
The final line
Seems that’s to be my fate
Sand passes through the hourglass
I just sit and wait
I wait because I know
The secrets from beyond
Are preparing to reveal themselves
Preparing to respond
But the mysteries of the living
The quandaries never solved
Plus everything I’ve left undone
Will never be resolved
Ends will never tie
Nothing more to do
So all I do is wait
Wait until I die

The Caregiver

caregiver

 

 
I worked in two different nursing homes during age16 through 22 and they both left many lasting impressions on me. I started out in the kitchen but quickly found myself on the floor flirting with the nurses and the aides, which earned me jobs like vacuuming and helping wherever. I did any shit work the nurses could find for me, like helping with enema’s. That wasn’t the end of the shit either. I was given caretaker charge of a man confined to a wheelchair who had a severe stroke. Bathed him, shaved him, and dressed him. He was young enough to be embarrassed having female aides do the chores so I became the best part of his morning when I worked that shift.

 
Archaic living statues
Wearing ancient masks
Reflective and forlorn
Performing aimless tasks
Not conscious of the world
But conscious of their fate
They have nothing to do
So they wait
Its all they do
All night, all day
Its all they have left
Even the memories begin to fade
The tears they paid
So they wait
They wait for me
The caregiver
For sustenance
For medication
They praise my dedication
All they have left is to wait
To be told what to do
They wait for me, caregiver
The one who holds their heart together
Informs them of the weather
They wait for me forever
Sometimes I come in the morn
Wake them from their sleeps
Change the wet sheets
Dress them for the day
Give them their pills
Chase their blues away
The way in which we planned
Breakfast tray in hand
Sometimes I come in the afternoon
Put on their favorite show
Just let them know
Someone cares
Then I wait to go home
To a life so removed
From the pain and the heartache
Of the aging machine
The horrors I’ve seen
Time can be so mean
Memories broken like in a dream
These grand folks I cherished
I watch as they perish
But each day I come back for a little while
Covering profound sadness with a smile
Knowing what’s on their minds
Though they really can’t define
They just wait
But its not the food, medicine or even me they sit in anticipation of
They’re waiting to die
And that makes me cry

 

The nurses told us not to get emotionally attached to the patients but we had so many favorites, cute old people who were left up to our care because fore the most part their families abandoned them. I was struck by how much they looked forward to our shifts as though they were visits, how we brightened what little life still sparkled behind their eyes, and I realized we were more than caretakers of their health, we were caretakers of their hearts. Ironically they in turn helped to fill our hearts up with love and gratitude. It was like having 20 of my grandma’s back, and I would give anything for just one more day with my Grandma. I would be happy to be her caregiver.

Awaiting The Raven

mirror

 

Who owns that face
Look deeper
In the mirror
Do you see them?
Sad tired eyes
Echoing back
Tormented orbs
Dimensions of sorrow
Volumes of pain
Clouds of regret
Obscuring the view
But I see
Fragmented visions
Broken glass
Pieces of pasts
Vows crumbling
Degradation and humiliation
People pointing
Laughing from afar
Whispering rumors
Stinging sarcasm
Now I see the reflection
An old man waiting
To meet the Raven
Be brave old friend

 
Look!
There in the mirror
Image comes clearer
Hair of silver
Vaguely familiar
Lines from laughter
Deep of disaster
Tracks from tears
Shed over years
Who owns that face
Who’s been misplaced
That can’t be me
I look so hollow
A bitter pill to swallow
The anguish and rage
My refection has aged

 
I wasted so many breaths
Trying to change
What had already occurred
Can’t change the past
So I guess my advice
Would be this
Waste no time
Attempting to alter
What has come and gone
Focus your efforts
On forging a future
Bury your past
Because before you know it
You become a strained reflection of yourself
Awaiting the Raven

 
Live and Love in Peace

What Day Was That

what day

 

 

Running across the yard
Swinging on a cloud
Skinned my knees
While laughing out loud
Bee stings and baby weeps
See saws and bedside creeps
Lost inside an empty crowd
Underneath a storm filled cloud
Minutes to spare and hours to burn
Battles to be fought
Lessons to be learned
Never a concern
Except Mom and Dad
What we needed they had
Before time walked me home
Made me go it alone
And childhood left me flat
Memories
What day was that

 
She had long silken curls
I was noticing girls
We were all having fun
In search of “the one”
Holding hands on the beach
Heart screaming uptempo
Thumping beats of promise
Seeds of passion were growing

With loves flame a aglow
A life everlasting
Two teen hearts broadcasting
True love forever
Initials in a tree
Etched for ever in eternity
Before time turned and spat
Spat in my face
What day was that

 

 

Couldn’t wait to grow up
Find the answers I need
But as age rolls downhill
It gathers much speed
Time offers not wisdom
But makes us it’s victim
Fueled on fruitless pride
On a mindless blind ride
Like a peacock I preened
Success was my insanity
The peak of my own vanity
Until time got angry
Focused its wrath on me
Much too conspicuously
Cutting furrows in my brow
Who needs a body anyhow
Crippling my emotions
Erasing my devotions
All the lines in my eyes
Stained in tears that I cried
Now even the mirror won’t lie
In a flash old age arrived
Leaving just memories inside
With a sarcastic smile
Time tipped it’s hat……..
What day was that

I’m Miserable, Lamenting On My Birthday

miserable

 

(Something I pulled from the attic, dusted off and adapted. Apologies if you already heard this shit)
So like yea, today’s my birthday and I am way past a half century old. Damn, when I say it like that it sounds downright ancient. Okay, I’ve been alive for more than six decades. Fuck man, that sounds even worse! So what do you do when you know you have more yesterdays than tomorrows, more of the hill behind you than in front, and you worry you are becoming a Grumpy Old Man? Why you bitch of course…..

I’m miserable, right? So I down a glass of vodka…. I’m still miserable, right? Although not quite as miserable as before. So I down another vodka. I’m still miserable, right? Well maybe not miserable but I’m still uptight. So I down another glass of vodka. I’m still mizabell rightio? Well not exactly mizzabrell, I feel kinda okay. Matter of fact I’m feeling pretty shitty good. So’s I have another vodka. Now I’m feeling it. Matter a fack I may actually be shhhhhh-happy. My oh my that vodka helps me forget. Onliest problem izzz, when I wakesh up tommorry, I gun be mishabelll all over again. So why’m I so doggone angry alla time these days?

Well to tell ya the truth it began the day I received the letter. Oh yes my brothers and sisters, the letter is coming in the mail for all of us if y‘all haven’t received it already. That dreaded piece of shit envelope with my name on it from AARP. Say what? AARP??? You must want my damn father because I ain’t ready for no bullshit Retired Persons mail. That would make a a goddamn freaking SENIOR! Thinking she was being helpful my baby girl daughter pointed out that it would mean bookoo senior discounts, like at movies and ice cream stores. While she saw savings on really cool things like Netflix and Ice Cream Chill I viewed it as an insult to my entire generation. WTF? We aren’t seniors! We’re still vital. Not oldies but classic rockers who had the real music, the good music. We are the generation that had to walk barefoot in the snow uphill both ways just to buy rolling papers at the stationary store. And then we had to clean our weed and through out all the stems and seeds before we could even roll. Not to mention we needed to glue two small Zig Zags together to roll what Y’all call fatties. We had chamber pipes collecting reinated buds for those weed free days. Speaking of which we lived through the drought of 76 when we went three and a half weeks without any weed in town. Anywhere! Not even homegrown. Some hardcore puffersa even smoked those stems and seeds. Gave me such a headache! So we are far from ready to cash it in and get on the senior tour bus, we’re still digging the psychedelic tangerine flake hippie tie-dye bus tour. Anyway, that’s what started it all, when I got an AARP card reality hit me like a glass of prune juice on a backed up day. That’s when I came to understand that I have become the ripped up pair of jeans that are no longer worn but were so comfortable back in time that Ithey just can’t be throw away. I am those old comfortable shoes that went out of style years ago but still take up room high on a shelf way in the back of the closet. Damn now that I put it that way I’m miserable again.

I was never really a big fan of reality but when it knocks you have no choice but to let it in. And here is the reality….I’m not getting old, I already am fucking old! And so it became that my new angry path was the golden road to grumpy old mandom. My sarcastic wit was far too quickly morphing into cynicism and distrust. I was becoming grumpy about everything so I took stock of myself and let reality come in for a visit. Reality entered my abode like a bull in a china shop, it was like a cannonball of facts. Crows feet? I got damn ravens legs. WTF are those wrinkles? That’s just because my skin don’t fit as tight as it used to even though it’s covering twice the mass. The ever increasing midsection of my body went beyond pear shape straight to an amoeba like glutton. Exercise? I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a rep of sit up’s today. The most work out I get is carrying the what I bought at the liquor store into the house. Even my license lists my hair color as transparent and my weight as a work in progress. Okay, so getting old sucks and being old is worse but that’s really not a reason to be miserable. No one ever said life would be fair but giving me the knowledge I could have used thirty five years ago just ain’t right. No, that’s not what made me miserable on this particular occasion, it was the culmination of all that reality combined with a recent visit to a local bakery that broke the dromedary‘s spine. I went to get some rolls and a loaf of French bread to bring over to some friends place that had invited us for dinner. The sweet young counterperson said to me, “Have you seen our discount? Twenty cents off on Wednesday.” Well another part of aging is I’ve become far more aware of diascounts and coupons than I used to. Just like my own father I have become a horder of Sweet and Low packets everywhere I go. Never have to buy them anymore, they are in the drawer with my soy sauce ans duck sauce packets. So hey man, twenty cents is twenty cents so I thanked her, paid and left. But when I got back to the car I began thinking she gave me far more than a twenty cent discount so because of another one of lifes little practical jokes I put on my reading glasses and stared at the receipt until it made sense. A half hour later I realized it said Senior Discount Wednesdays 20% off. Puzzled because of the oncoming storm of senility it took me 10 more minutes to realize she hadn’t said have you seen our discount, but We have our senior discount, and it wasn’t twenty cents, it was 20%. As I left the bakery I went straight to my happy place, the liquor store. Why? To get some vodka because now once again I’m miserable right? Happy fucking birthday to me……..

Moms Home

Mom

 

Home
Where I learned about life
And love
When I scraped my knee
Mom fixed me
With iodine and love
Sacrificed everything for us
For Our Home
Moms Home
She always filled it with love
Taught us to be who we are
Shaped our hearts and our minds
Constructed tender memories
Mom made home a house of love
So why did we make her leave it?

 
Have you seen Mom lately? No, you? Always busy, always something more to do.
It’s been so long since we went to see Mom, but it’s just so far away and there aren‘t enough hours in a day. Time flies by and what with Billy’s baseball and Janie’s soccer along with band practice and PTA meetings there just isn’t enough time for anything. She’s better off at her new home at Echo Valley anyway, don’t ya think?

.
Echo Valley
Moms new Home
Museum of archaic statues
Final act of an ancient drama
Waiting for the final curtain
The theater where time stands still
Where everyone screams but no one listens
Echo Valley
That’s where we brought her
Where Mom now makes home
A carousel of strangers
Life of structure
Memories have deserted her
We’ve deserted her
Made her someone else’s problem
Gathering dust and urine stains
Wafting in fumes of ammonia
Formaldehyde in waiting
It’s Moms home now
Why not give the old woman a call

Welcome to Echo Valley, home for the old and forgotten. All our representatives are busy with other family members who are also substituting a phone call for a visit. Please continue to hold for the next available attendant. Your call is as important to us as your family member is to you so if we make you wait too long, imagine how they feel waiting for you to come visit so shut the fuck up or do the right thing and make the trip. After all she’s done for you how can you dump her in our Home and forget about her? She has nothing to do but wait and count the seconds as her time is runs out in a Home full of strangers.

Parades of old parents strolling and rolling
While no ones patrolling
And predators are trolling
Looking to sneak inside their room.
With discretion and success then
For them a profession
They remove every worldly possession
Leaving the old codgers to ponder their doom
So while your out running around
Till you’re running aground with your
Cunning new sounds and then
Suddenly drowned
Like an obscure dream
Moms in her home waiting salivating
And an-ti -cipating
While the nurse is placating while
You wait on call waiting
So fucking frustrating I wanna scream
So we placed Mom on display in a terrible way
Her new home’s always cold and lonely, where no one remembers her love. All alone she sits daily her brain slowly wasting away.
No flames burn eternal
We’re mere flesh and bone
And Mom keeps wondering
Why we left her alone
She thinks we’ve forgotten
And maybe we did
All her sacrifice and work
Is off of our grid
And none of us are there to see her silent tears
A harsh way to total the love through the years

Thank God for Echo Valley, Mom needs structure to keep her going.
Time to get up Mrs. Jones, come on I’ll wash you off and bring you down to breakfast. Here’s your medicine Hon. Time to go back to your room Mrs. Jones, please wait here in the hallway while we take care of the other fifty guests. Here’s your after breakfast memory medicine Hon. What’s that Mrs. Jones? Oh no honey, it hasn’t been four hours its been a half hour, an hour at most, come lets get you to your room. I’ll put the TV on so you can watch your favorite shows. Lunchtime Mrs. Jones. Lets get you ready for lunch. Time for your midday medicine Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Jones? Are you awake? Call the orderly I need some help.
Mrs. Jones??? Too late, call the family, now maybe one of them will come by to at least get her things. I guess she’s finally home.

Age Is Just A Number And other Lies I Tell Myself

 

age

 

 

J. T. (Over The) Hilltop

After  a certain age one of the most awkward questions to ask is how old they are. Especially if the question is asked of a woman and  answered with the equally awkward question, how old do you think I am? A very quick processing takes place, I look at the woman who asked me, guess at what age I really believe she is, and then subtract ten years. It’s a tried and true algebraic equation which often brings a smile while proving that those algebra classes did in fact come in handy.  But first the tough part. Do I answer? Use the algebra and hope she looks at least close to the age I originally guessed so she feels good and I escape my awkward situation? What if my guess is way off and I offend her? That’s almost as bad as asking a woman when the baby is due only to yourself being sliced up and set on fire from her eyes, letting you know in no uncertain terms she is not pregnant. Maybe I’ll use the trusty old stand-by, distract and move on? Maybe I could just lie and say “Age is just a number” then change the subject. Age is just a number. That’s the first lie I tell myself about getting old.

It’s not “just” a number, its an ever escalating number that grows exponentially. It’s a number that goes up but never down no matter how hard we try to look younger. A toupee? They look live divots you replaced in your scalp. Dressing in younger style, dieting, crèmes, oils, aromatherapy, we have an abundance of reverse the aging process products on the market. I get emails telling me I can increase my virility by washing with bull semen. They just happen to have a deal on it this week too. Who collects that semen anyway? Some brave young stud I guess because I can barely outrun a snail. And of course the hard sell, little pills of instant sex machine. Viagra. How did my Dad survive without it? Age is a number all right and I’m getting tired of having to add to it all the time.

The second lie I tell myself is that I’m getting old. I’m passed the getting point and at the being point. I am old! I’m at the dinosaur stage. The days of my roaming the earth in search of food or other dinosuars is ancient history now. I have moved on to a new epoch. A friggen senior.  But not to worry, with age comes wisdom. Yea, that’s the next lie. They say intelligence is knowing that tomatoes are fruits and wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad. I know there are tons of stupid people out there but I have never seen anyone put tomatoes in fruit salad so the wisdom they speak of is actually very common. Besides, with all this reported wisdom how come I still don’t even know who “they” are? Oh I’m much wiser now, I realize drinking has a limit and I know it real well at this point but do I actually have wisdom? Not really, it took me a very long time to learn things I should have known years ago.

Next lie. You’re not getting older you’re getting better. Getting better at what? Just when I think I have a handle on new technology it springs another light year ahead. It took me four years and numerous lessons from my kids to learn how to schedule the VCR and one month later everyone switched to cable DVR’s and some Blur ray crap. It’s like the eight track fiasco all over again. I go to the doctor he doesn’t say “Hey good news, your getting better”, he says, “You’ve gotta exercise, lose weight, and slow down” That’s an oxymoron. If I slow down how can I exercise? Things I used to do all night take me all night to do once.

Next lie. I’m aging like a fine wine. Hahahahaha… Nice try but no. If you age a wine too long or too wrong it becomes vinegar. In human terms vinegar is known as the grumpy old man stage. Admittedly the older I got the more complicated life got and with wine  complications are a virtue. I have so much extra skin that no longer fits I could hide a bottle of wine in the flaps. The older I get the more like box wine I become. There’s plenty of me and I’m cheap. If you drink a lot of wine you will develop a common trait of us seniors, you’ll be heading to the bathroom to empty your bladder a lot. Only difference is mine isn’t full, it just likes the comfort of relaxing by the toilet.

Next lie. You’re as young as you feel. Really?? Than I must be a hundred and twenty years because that’s how old I feel in the morning. It takes a lot of coaxing from my brain to get my extremities on board with getting out of bed.  This young as it feels body feels like its been running on fumes for so long it gives out contact highs. I need a check liver light with all the alcohol I’ve consumed and a lung scraping for years of smoke abuse. Bones are crisp, like peanut brittle crisp and the noises they make scare the cat. When I was young I felt like partying all night and now I look forward to bedtime.

Next lie. You’re aging gracefully. That’s total bullshit, I may pretend like I’m being graceful but grace walked out for a pack of cigarettes years ago and I haven’t heard from it since. I’m fighting it constantly but I’m losing every battle. I use plenty of preservatives or as I like to call it Vodka, but after a few of them it’s almost impossible to be graceful. Age is kicking my ass and making me look like a lame bum boxer from Palooka-Ville that functions best when it takes a dive. In the first round.

Next lie. 60 is the new 40. What?? Are you kidding me? There is absolutely nothing about being 60 that’s new except maybe the effects of senility and the loss of bone matter. Someone tried to explain baldness to me as my brain pushing the hairs out to make room for the overload of intelligence we have. I believe it’s actually the brain cells become too weak to function and hold down the roots at the same time so they just let go. In a desperate search for belonging the follicles colonize in the ears and nose where they set up tight knit communities that are unruly to say the least.

Last lie. It’s not the years in your life, it’s the life in your years. Okay, I have to admit that ones true. Despite the fact that I have to convince myself to get up each morning, despite the fact that the image in the mirror is way fatter and has much less hair than the real me, despite the fact I am not much wiser, despite the fact that young people laugh when I try to use the newest technology, and despite the fact I constantly need to remind myself not to let the small shit turn me into a grumpy old man, it’s still me who is in control of how I live out the rest of my life. Is it asking too much to live it out with a little of that reckless abandon that I enjoyed so much before responsibilities became my reality? I hope not……PEACE

I’m Miserable Right?

Jethro Tull - Aqualung

 

 

I’m miserable, right? So I down a glass of vodka…. I’m still miserable, right? Although not quite as miserable as before. So I down another vodka. I’m still miserable, right? Well maybe not miserable but I’m still uptight. So I down another glass of vodka. I’m still mizabell rightio? Well not exactly mizzabrell, I feel kinda okay. Matter of fact I’m feeling pretty shitty good. So I have another vodka. Now I’m feeling it. Matter a fack I may actually be shhhhhh-happy. My oh my that vodka sure is a damn cure all. Onliest problem izzz, when I wakesh up tommorry, I gun be mishabelll all over again. So why’m I so doggone angry alla time these days?

Well to tell ya the truth I believe it began the day I received the letter. Oh yes my brothers and sisters, the letter is coming in the mail for all of us if y‘all haven’t received it already. That dreaded piece of shit envelope with my name on it from AARP. Say what? AARP??? You must want my damn father because I ain’t ready for no bullshit Retired Persons mail. That would make a a goddamn freaking SENIOR! Thinking she was being helpful my baby girl daughter pointed out that it would mean bookoo senior discounts, like at movies and ice cream stores. While she saw savings on really cool things like Netflix and Ice Cream Chill I viewed it as an insult to my entire generation. WTF? We aren’t seniors! We are classic humans who had the good music. We are the generation that had to walk barefoot in the snow uphill both ways just to buy rolling papers at the stationary store. We lived through the drought of 76 when we went three and a half weeks without any weed in town. Not even homegrown. We are far from ready to cash it in and get on the senior tour bus, we’re still digging the psychedelic tangerine flake hippie tie-dye bus tour. Anyway, that’s what started it all, when I got an AARP card reality hit me like a glass of prune juice on the rocks. That’s when I came to understand that I have become the ripped up pair of jeans that are no longer worn but were so comfortable back in time that I can’t throw them away. I am those old comfortable shoes that went out of style years ago but still take up room in the closet. Nowe I’m miserable again.

I was never really a big fan of reality but when it knocks you have no choice but to let it in. And here is the reality….I’m not getting old, I am fucking old! And so it became that my new angry path was the golden road to grumpy old mandom. My sarcastic wit was far too quickly morphing into cynicism and distrust. I was becoming grumpy about everything so I took stock of myself and let reality come in for a visit. Reality entered my abode like a bull in a china shop, it was like a cannonball of facts. Crows feet? I got damn ravens legs. WTF are those wrinkles? That’s just because my skin don’t fit as tight as it used to even though it’s covering twice the mass. The ever increasing midsection of my body went beyond pear shape straight to an amoeba like glutton. Exercise? I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a rep of sit up’s today. The most work out I get is carrying the what I bought at the liquor store into the house. Okay, so getting old sucks and being old is worse but that’s really not a reason to be miserable. No one ever said life would be fair but giving me the knowledge I could have used thirty five years ago just ain’t right. No, that’s not what made me miserable on this particular occasion, it was the culmination of all that reality combined with a recent visit to a local bakery that broke the dromedary‘s spine. I went to get some rolls and a loaf of French bread to bring over to some friends place that had invited us for dinner. The sweet young counterperson said to me, “Have you seen our discount? Twenty cents off on Wednesday.” Well another part of aging is we become far more aware of costs than we used to. Twenty cents is twenty cents so I thanked her, paid and left. But when I got back to the car I began thinking she gave me far more than a twenty cent discount so with life playing unfair I put on my reading glasses and looked at the receipt. It said Senior Discount Wednesdays, 20% off. Puzzled because of oncoming senility it took me 10 minutes to realize she hadn’t said have you seen our discount, but We have our senior discount, and it wasn’t twenty cents, it was 20%. As I left the bakery I went straight to my happy place, the liquor store. Why? Because I’m miserable right? The Hell with this shit, I need another vodka……

 

Cruel Trick Of Nature

old

 

One day you’re playing and running in the wind and then you blink. Now you have a job, a family, and it’s your own kids playing in the playgrounds of innocence. Then you blink again and your children are having children. After so much time has passed in what seems like a heartbeat you realize you understand much too late what all should understand. The playground is unfamiliar and too painful to negotiate. What a cruel trick of nature to give us knowledge long after we can use it to our benefit.

 

 

 

What kind of a trick is this? Mother natures practical joke. She can be so ironic it hurts to laugh

 

I try so hard to remember

Things I wish I could forget

Such a rotten cruel trick of nature

Leaving me to always drowning

In a pool of self regret

Treading but not sinking

Swimming without thinking

Floating without the passions of youth

The closer to death the more the wisdom

The lessons now so clear

Seemed so hard to reach

Once so damn far way

The washed up on my beach

And now when reason calls me

Much too tired to give the answer

What a cruel cruel trick she has

Mother Nature the necromancer

 

 

 

She leaves me a reminder

There in my playground

The scene forming behind her

Ghosts of lovers lay undisturbed

Pacing curiously

To where the past seems so absurd

That cruel trick of nature

Making us get old

With eyesight challenged through wisdom

I have the right answers

I see clearly through my prism

Left with out an alibi

Just a useless euphemism

What a cruel trick

 

Time Chase

unfinished

We grab on desperately to our caches of memories petrified that if we lose them we have nothing left. Then on day we realize that those memories are merely vapors from echoes we once screamed from the mountaintops. It’s a tragedy when we run out of life before we run out of time…..

Life running out

Time standing still

Once full of wonder

He’s now had his fill

Behind his old sparkle

The light it grows dim

Underneath the smile

Is a world dark and grim

Running out of verve

But not out of time

Harder day by day

To be towing the line

Don’t let them see it

Don’t let them stare

Light up your candle

Hide from the glare

Condition and acceptance

That’s what they expect

When everything’s gone

You’ll still have respect

Give wink and a nod

Say everything’s great

Life will catch up to them too

Time is our fate