I once thought much on growing old,
Of those last angry steps.
I once shook fists in impotence:
Against mortality.

And yet I find, as wrinkles spread,
And life remains obscure,
It isn't fame or strands of grey,
That move me,
As I age.
Nor is it thought of future naught,
One day,
Myself,
To be.

It's not the world of one,
Of self,
Nor bipolarity.
It’s something better left unsaid,
Left thankless empathy.

It's you!
My love,
My friend,
My foe:
A virus, learning,
Doomed and slow.

It's you!
A face,
Your smile,
You blink:
“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone.”

/rosary-sept-uu3

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.