But they are wrong
who praise the virtues
of old age--
who its contentment extol-
the image
of understanding
they hold
as homage--

the story must be retold
the years that had gone before
have festered into rage-
the if and but
the should/would have been-

now standing apart
is the time to dip into
the poison of the heart-
hurt, real or perceived
dreams that had perished
the machination orchestrated
by enemies and even worse
that of once cherished friends--

broken promises
ideals falsely professed
wasted hours
in the sunshine
of youth
lies in the mid-term years
the slime and flattery
the bad-mouthing
the insinuations
the treachery
the self at variance
with the world
hidden anxieties
and fears

in translation
old age is but pain
and regret
a poem unfinished
a book badly written
a song that doesn't sing
a bell that doesn't ring

in his diary
the old person
inscribes:
these are the years
(though the last)
still swallowed
by lonely
and untold tears.