A Well-aged Poem

My years of living now catch up with me,

Once proclaiming that chicks really dig scars.

Now nightly I review my history,

Write in coffee shops, Stumbling out of bars,

 

I wished to be an old and wise poet,

I ponder this as I take all my pills.

Grey in my beard beginning to show it,

Newfound faith in my heart it now instills.

 

I do not believe my writes have improved,

It has only morphed into something new.

My passion for writing is left unmoved.

Though my body can’t do what it used to.

 

Though my body tells me of coming rains,

I try to smile through the aches and pains.

 

09/02/2025

Author's Note

Time always catches up with you

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I am an old poet myself...been trying to gain the wise now for 55 years of writing...still trying to write that one poem that might make my name...but still a long way to go and a shorter time to do it.
Sure do relate to this one J. Todd.
j.

[Kelly Scheppers]

I recall my grandmother being able to forecast the cold and the coming of rain, just by the way her bones felt. I wish she had been more on the money with the percentage of snow closing my school!