her sun spots bragged of summers spent reckless and her silver locks of once box dyed glory. her drooping skin bragged of first kisses and a hundred men’s touch— from her so-called “glory days.” her plump figure bragged of children bore and lovers loved and a thousand lives lived. in this old age I deemed her ageless— having lived more in one lifetime than most could dream to do in four.
Having been born in Nineteen hundred forty-four, Some say (and rightly so) I'm from "the days of yore;" Wars were being fought, and the whole world seemed deranged, Though many years have passed, the world's course has not changed; But I know I have changed -- now with faltering sight I search in vain for the dreams that never took flight
I was young once and focused on my golden dreams Of romance, love, adventure . . . the very same themes That you dream about, I still dream at this late stage -- So I know how you feel . . . we're on the same page; Throughout life we reach for the brass ring, but at length We have to admit we no longer have the strength
I understand now why back then old folks would speak Of how "the spirit's willing, but the flesh is weak;" And I yearn for the dawn of my life's yesterday To once again pursue those dreams that went astray; But the winds of Time are whispering a simple truth: It's too late for me now . . . the spoils belong to youth
Line dial phone rings the past what was, what is, and what lasts The fast, the gracious and the present Year after year, tone after tone Toll free collecting The connection between me and myself Becoming ever so inconsistent. “What man am I?” I ask. “I don’t know “says me on the receiving side I am a different person, same body, same tone I am a old soul lurking, same mind, same goals. What man am I?
When you put change in the public phone do you hear the same man breathing on the other end?