She's always been like a tree,
Rooted and strong.
The resemblance
Only grew with her age.
The wrinkles of her face-
Hard and intricate bark;
And her wisdom reaching-
Branches offering shade

I’m waddling around with wattles.
Nothing in a bottle will change that.
Not buying a better looking hat
Or a brighter, tighter shirt.
My childhood left in the dirt,
I’m an old man! I do what I can
To not look like a wino under a bridge;
A smidge of aftershave so I don’t stink
And people don’t think I’m decaying.

What I’m saying is, I’m getting old.
Graying smudges among the gold.
This is me. This is what I see daily
When I glance gaily into my mirror
Expecting the guy as young as I feel.
He isn’t real. An old guy sneaked in
Again, and I wish I hadn’t peeked.
Oh well, this isn’t really hell.
I have never thought I was hot,
One of those handsome lads that had
Everyone’s heads turning for them.

I had dim hope there for a while
But, no matter how much I smile
Nothing wins like smooth skin
Broad shoulders and big pecs.
I mean, I was not a wreck, but not
As I said, even a little bit hot.
Oh well, I got what I got, true?
Can I or you ever defeat genetics?
Like father like son, and mother,
Creates another generation of us;
Nice guys and gals, but plain,
And this old man is what remains.

Son screamed
‘When will you grow up, Dad!’
Father nodded in remorse and cerebrated -
‘My heart remains young, Hallelujah!’

1

malice so gelidly plated
on the day of the parting
an old fading rose not receiving love
her bitter heart icy in grief

11

the fresher bloom captivated
his soul with an exceeding depth
a budding beauty so glorious
of splendour he'd prefer to hold

111

words exchanged between
which made for a catty scene
out came the elder woman's claws
wanting to scratch the dahlia's eyes

1V

and the allure of newer flower
he'd ever keep
as the ancient wrinkles
in time did finally creep

Colors of my imagination
Grow constantly within my mind,
Prosperous world I once created
Dragged into elder forces' fight.

The darkest matter of Ruination
Tries to destroy my universe,
But cosmic echoes of Creation
Have counterpoused their ancient force.

The oldest forces combat wildly -
There wasn't any fight like that,
The streams of power spinning blindly -
Arising essence of black shade.

The new stars' substance is arising,
From this new essence of pure dark,
Now millions of worlds are shining,
And billion fires have been sparked.

A thousand years passed after battle,
I ask its shadows (they're alive):
"How could chaotic fight to end up,
In giving birth to purest life?"

("We've witnessed universe creation,
We've seen a strength of spectral knights,
Bringing a life to new dimension
Requires energies' collapse...")

Shadows retreat - to constellations,
Last time I see the new worlds' light,
This picture - my imagination,
It's getting bleak like nighttime sky.

(inspired by Decrepit Birth and Blut Aus Nord)

The basin drains her polluted blood as wine envelopes morose
Every minute is a memory, onset of her blanketed comatose
Vying in a fog of icons and myths, words always fail them
From every misread evil that is disposed of improperly
From every neighbor or friend eternally mute again
From every gilded pattern that leaves a cuff for the eyes
From every fetching barroom, where all such nadir lies

Elder cocoons
Crysalis Hospice
Heaves pounding war drums
Fables of eternal bridge
Bingo and television
zombie horde lunch hour
Tennis ***** play race car
down halls tarred with lost children
Abandoned wither liver spot wrists
Silk wrinkles
Pull like neck folds lifted
newborn simba kittens
casted into this kingdom
scientists culture control

climate but not the yellow wall
It's too high for a fit cyborg
intravenous barbed wire
Cathader Penetrating
illusions of escapism
except the prison wealthy
classically conditioned

trading ice cream like cigarettes
trading blood diseases like ramen packets
There is no planned parenthood
in old folks homes
There is no distribution of free condoms
In a facility where they without medication
When you're about to win the lottery

His last day requested to bed Nurse Christine
Wheelchair ridden fumbling to open
A shaker of Mrs. DASH
I reach to help him open the spice.
Growling and Sadistic he festered:
"Let the little boy do what he can do."

I sat down in my chair.
he had his nurse ala mode.
no one will fund a ****** dispensary for old folks home.
they wouldn't use them.