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Getting Old

When I am old and grey,
Messed up and brittle.
Falling down stairs or in the way,
And made to feel little.

I shall remind everybody
That I was once young;
And strong, bawdy and naughty,
With a flapping tongue -

When I am too far-gone,
Forgetful and noxious;
Therefore a hassle to depend on,
Such a pickle dubious -

I will stare at the picture,
Unable to remember;
Why strange faces have no feature,
Nor useful splendour -

When the darkness falls,
And the lights faded;
Silent vanity will circle the walls,
My desolation sated.

Thus emerging a burden,
An encumber to irritate;
Making my freedom uncertain,
It is something I'd hate.

When my world is spent,
Foregone and passing;
I will lie there in a woeful relent,
Pitiable in my gasping -

And how my life may go,
If at all I would expire.
But my mortality will be so,
And cordially I'll retire.
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Submitted by Spideracer21 on March 05, 2021

47 sec read

Charles Bernabi

When I was a young lad I used to go hunting whales with my grandfather. Inspiration and imagination comes from that experience, well actually it's all from my imagination. more…

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    "Getting Old" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 3 Dec. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/62824/getting-old>.

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