The older I get
the less people to call
is it by choice
my spirit’s downfall?

The older I get
the less then to care
a life once so pointed
now little to share

The older I get
to never defend
the ones that stood by me
the ones I called friends

The older I get
meat gone from the stew
the faces just names
of those I once knew

The older I get
doors lock from within
a constant reminder
that blaming can sting

The older I get
the less people to call
no sand in the hourglass
   —last grain set to fall

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2014)