At the 50 +
An old lot
coming from the monotonic ringing melody of Graham Bell's

gone the days of childhood , adolescence and to breath sighs !ah the kisses for her lips and eyes to watch as she walked on pedestrian , how often she moves her curvy hips ,

What's ahead !anytime anywhere , even this very  moment clocks could be locked always tightening the noose around , Death that only clips ,we're acting childish in our shells ,

In a trance kept lone , social gaining kilos of fats and accumulating distances  !  Ah though miles we're apart but isolated and in love , dancing  rhythmic on keys and board of Dell's ,

what's to hide how much we seek the harmony we lost in quest unreached as ever asking where the soul dwells ,

All exit reveals in each of thyself opened are the many hells

we are no more child but to act childish whenever in love , only  it tells ,