For the first time in my life,
I feel old.
I am old
but I never felt that way before, never felt
beat down
even when I was
beat down.
Never felt this ache, this deep
this tired fear that’s crept into my bones, my joints my blood
my brain.
There’s a black-and-white photograph of Tom Waits hung up in the pantry
a beer bottle sitting on the table
blood stains on my sneakers and life should be
alright
I should be ready
to continue, to set myself on fire, but today
I just feel old
and I can only watch things smolder
turn to dust.
Exactly. Dust, and the ashes of the hope I once had.
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Thank you for all the words you gift the world. Thank you for your hard and soft sides. Thank you for the glory that is your soul.
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April, I am feeling about 90 years old myself again today. Hard to concentrate on work. Your poem describes this exactly.
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