The older we get, we often find that
We're like an old pair of socks
Tattered and torn as we're daily worn
Lucky if we're not, lost in the wash
Souls that run thin, from end to end
As our thread count tends to thin out
Old and abused, overly used
Walking about, holes filled with doubt
Often mismatched with ideas that we have
In thinking we'll live forever
Till we find ourselves lost, in the back of a drawer
Confused in how we got here
Hard-earned worn socks, this life we have fought
Eventually fading to gray
Gingerly kept till there's nothing left
Before being tossed away