“Revelation Pillow To Pillow” A Millennium Poem

I thought so 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 greying hairs,

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 ever left unsaid,

A solitary empathy.

It’s you!

My love, my friend, my foe:

The virus brethren, doomed and slow.

It’s you!

In life, a stage, won’t last:

“Two vast and trunk less legs of stone.”