Now I’m just an aging wretch
limping down a bleak homestretch
with legs that ache and two sore feet
ready to concede defeat.
Still the autumn grass grows green
thus redeeming this bleak scene.
One more round and then I’m through–
from now on it’s up to you.
Carry on as best you can,
even with ersatz elan.
The fates are playing tricks on me
and tarnishing my brilliancy.
Alas, I have become afraid–
my brain has now begun to fade.
I search for words, for clever rhymes
that graced my verse in better times.
Instead of flaunting fluency
I’m warding off senility.
So be it if the gods decree it.
I’m sad that I am forced to see it.
MY NEXT INCARNATION
Surrounded by swarming samsara,
I resist, protest,
try to fight through it,
curse the absent gods,
resign with a petulant but timid growl
which scares no one.
I will plan my next incarnation
making sure it does not include
excursions through mind fields.
BRING SOME SENSE
Grasping, clutching, craving meaning,
in its absence howling, keening,
here we pace like some crazed beast
mourning for a world that ceased.
Bring fresh sense into our life,
peace instead of mindless strife.
Give us some new raison d’etre
quench the raging storms of hate, or
show a path for our redemption,
from this hell— a circumvention.
Some say I am an inspiration.
They must be sunk in desperation.
How can they glean some hope from me,
a lost soul drowned in misery?
Each day I greet the rising sun
still praying life’s game can won.
I struggle on, the years fly by,
and I don’t know the reason why.
I dare not total up the score
and fear the stakes we’re playing for.
An insight just went dashing by
and as it fled I made a try
to catch it, but it sped away,
thus leaving me with naught to say.
Whenever you’re blessed by a thought
quick, grab it lest it come to naught.
In desperation now I pray
to save my insights of today.
Tomorrow looms, I’m unprepared,
and by my senile slippage scared.
Aging’s hard–I’m letting go,
but I’m going to take it slow,
clutching here and grabbing there.
The warning signs? I am aware
that daily life is not a breeze.
I’m often stressed and ill at ease.
As time flies by and clouds descend
I sense the looming of the end.
Can you believe that even I
will keep on aging, then will die?
IF THERE’S STILL TIME
When I review my life I am aghast.
So little that I’ve done is going to last.
My days were often “full of sound and fury,”
my nights consumed by sleeplessness and worry.
Accomplishments? They faded long ago.
Their residue? I cannot claim to know.
So on I sail and hope the wind stays fair.
Perhaps someday I will real living dare.
If there’s still time I’d like to see if I
have guts enough to give it one more try.