On the Edge of Autumn

On the edge of autumn, I see the sky and trees ablaze with color. I can still smell the smoldering fires of fierce youth, when the landscape of my heart was wild, a wilderness that wouldn't be tamed. But I'm afraid old age has quenched my thirst for adventure. Even my poems have lost their teeth. Gone are my scabbed-up knees and swords made of sticks. No beautiful maidens to rescue; just constipation to overcome as I listen to the ticking of the clock, beating louder as evening draws near.

Request permission to use this poem

Written by

thomas-w-case

59 / M / Clear Lake

For You?

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write