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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2088969
I can't do it over and don't want to.
I've grown too old.
This frail failing body is as worn,
As the frayed shoelaces,
I don't try to tie anymore.
Just tuck them inside soft welted shoes,
Alongside my swollen feet,
Beset with diabetic misery.

My heart is weak and warrants,
An implanted timer for my ticker.
I don't think about it much.

What's worrisome,
Is possessing a passionate,
Youthful mind imprisoned,
Inside an unsightly body,
Slowly depleting.

I've done the math.
True sin would be to sell,
My last hours of precious life,
To profit someone else,
Telling lies the boss wants to be told.
Doing the wrong things,
To the wrong people,
In the wrong places.

Having wasted life's sweetest wedge,
I gaze into Mr. Death's dull frigid eyes,
And feel sorry.

I can't do it over and don't want to.
But I can hold up my hard history,
To school survival in a scary world,
To give my family reassurance,
Like grandma's gracious comforter,
And love others as God loves us all.


(32 Lines)



 
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#2034965 by Strange Brain
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