I wander aimlessly around my tiny world, cringing at the pain
I worry about tomorrow’s plan and curse at today’s rain.
Joints of hell and fire make every step a burden,
yet no end in sight and more of the same is certain.
I want to stand as tall as a little man and breathe fire,
not be known as a poet without words or a liar.
I want to battle through the agony and avoid the tears
I need to dig a little deeper to make sure I hide my fears.
Older may be better when discussing the fine wines
But in the body of an old man it’s a world of wrinkles and lines
I recall the early days as many writers do, words flowed like beer
music never stopped and there was always more to hear.
Looking in a morning mirror is a terror in itself
I see the face of a statue that belongs on someone’s shelf.
Where is the smile and all the character that made me young
where is all the harmony for the songs I’ve always sung?
Will this happen to everyone as years slip through their hands
Will all my friends and family watch the sifting sands?
Time will tell I have been told as I wither and fight on
I hope the best of me is coming.... but not gone.
For all those battling tomorrow!
