Old
In the blink of an eye
I’ve become an old man
ailing and decrepit
walking rickety
with a stick at my side
wondering where time has gone
wandering through the archives
of my mind, and asking myself
if I could have done better
3 thoughts on "Old"
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Yes. Old is the only time there is.
This poem speaks to me–especially the first line. Peculiar how the aging appears to happen overnight when it’s probably a gradual process.
“Now” is the only time there is. Old is a privilege.