There was a time in my now begotten youth
When I could have stole a woman from any man
Nothin’ fancy
Just plain truth
That is just the way I am
That is just the way I am.
Now many years later,
I find myself with more than one lady
Knocking on my door
Wanting to share my life
For a day
An hour or more.
Doin’ her best to try and warp my mind
Making a mess of it
Most of the time
Time slowly marches on
My visions of youth grown dimmer
With each coming new dawn
Approaching the autumn of my winter.
Tonight I am thinking of all the broken dreams
Best laid plans
Hope’s
And schemes.
After all the old familiar stories are told
Will the truth really be known?
I kinda doubt it
I kinda doubt it.
The looking glass suddenly tells me
I am hitting the middle of my years
I can hardly believe what it is,
that I see,
Glancing upon shades of grey in my beard
My body has placed tell-tale markers
For all the world to see.
Little distinct lines giving my life more meaning
My tired old body has begun to play tricks on me
It simply will not let me tell my lies,
When I call upon it
It answers up “No” most of the time.
Things are different now,
In my clouded looking glass
all the signs are there
Tiny little notices of coming things
Things yet to be
Perhaps a dream of happier times
Are now waiting for me?
In my mirror all the signs are there
Little tell tale markers,
placed there by the hand of God above,
In the autumn of my years …
“Inside every man there is a poet who died young.”
***
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: nostalga, poetry, prose, writing
Did you write this? Or was it written by another and it appealed to your mood?
I like it. it’s soulful, slightly sad, resigned. I cn relate to it. I once turned the head of every man … now I too grow old.
Good Morning Jan, yes I wrote it, I write all my stuff on here. It wasn’t written today, it was written awhile back, but I thought it would appeal to some, and they might get something from it, so I posted it this morning.
At one time I had a book of them (all prose, don’t write much of it anymore) and I handed it over to some sweet little thing named Kathy, and I never saw her or that book again. Lost about 250 original works, that really upset me for a long, long time.
I am glad that you liked it.
DS
That is very good, Don; the poet inside you hasn’t bit the dust yet, has he? ‘The turn of a significant phrase’.
LM (you don’t mind the initials do you?): Thanks for the kind reply, I don’t write a lot of prose anymore, devote most of my time to my particular brand of insanity on the page. I haven’t written anything noteworthy in awhile, used to get a big kick out of it. Found it relaxing and enjoyable.
Trying my best to “mix it up” and keep it interesting, if you have any ideas or suggestions pass them on.
DON
Don ~ This is beautiful… Leaves me yearning for a time when my step was a bit quicker and my eyes were a bit brighter… *sigh*
[4] I am glad that you are pleased, and yes, it sometimes affects me the same way. I am not growing old gracefully, aging like a bottle of fine wine, they are NOT going to love me at the home.
I recently saw these pictures of a bunch of old geezers (heh-heh) that were sword fighting at the home while being supported with wheelchairs. I thought to myself, “Oh my gawd, is that what is in store for me?” I was horrified. (now don’t send me any letters, I am a dues paying member of the old geezers society, southside city branch, local twenty-four).
The other day at the park, I was walking around the loop, not really trying to get my heartbeat up, thank you, when I inadvertently dropped my sunglasses.
This young shapely thing comes up to me and says, “Sir? Sir? You dropped these” and then handed me my glasses and continued to briskly walk away. I watched her move on down the path (I said I was old, I am not dead!) and as she walked away, I thought to myself, “Sir? I used to be a dude, hey buddy, something like that, now I am sir?”
It is not easy being a grandpa. Not easy at all.
DS