Using time and growing old

Each day that passes is a tick of the clock, and although I live in paradise (see pics) small things rob me of the experiences that really matter. Defining what really matters is almost a life long lesson, all I know now is in my eighth decade, i have a clearer idea.  I don’t want anything that spoils my loving relationships, nor do I want to leave anyone behind who will be lost without me.  I want to share everything with them as well as write something that’ll move a person or two whether I’m here or not.

Today i have been mulling over some important challenges and choices that I face, and I am resolved to change nothing.

Tonight we will have some chums over for dinner, share some good food and some decent wine, what a joy, what a lucky bugger I am.  I just want it all to go on.

I’m older than I used to be……

 

       

I’m older than I used to be,

I remember yesterday quite clearly

I was clever smart and sharp,

each day had purpose

Now I’m not so sure, what to do.

I search for yesterday.

 

No one knows nor cares about my worth,

my talent or my wit.

Each day that passes is lost in nemesis,

What can I do to stop the rot,

the decay of sitting still and waiting

For publisher or acolyte to call, –  they never do.

 

How shall I shout and make the world aware

of all I have to offer.

The world shouts back in stony silence,

alarming with disinterest,

The insistence to do something

rings hollowly from within,

 

I cannot stand that silent din of emptiness,

come muse and help me sing,

What music is irrelevant,

as long as there is a tune,

It’s mine that no one else can play

or write or paint or sing.

 

It matters not that no one hears,

perhaps the word will entertain

When I am dead and gone,

the words echoing in my wake,

Perhaps they too will die silently,

unknown unread and dead.

 

No one will care, so why all the trouble

to make a new creation?

I have no idea, – to fill the days?

To live In hope of some tiny immortality?,

But if those words and songs,

they die with me.  So what?

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