just a small morsel left on life’s old dinner plate best to savor it oh you might turn up your nose claiming the good parts are gone but i’m licking the plate clean
life’s full of failures
with youth’s thin cloth worn by fools
faced with winter’s wind
while those who are old don cloaks
heavy with youth’s memories
pretending it keeps them warm
the details of my existence are fading some replaced with deliberate confusion by others an attempt to justify their fading existence details they clearly recall but wish not to claim much easier to attribute them to someone else often called selective memory but once such flaws are stapled onto another’s existence it becomes a form of assassination but i suppose it really doesn’t matter since we’ll all be forgotten anyway
the end
seems to be made
of
broken pieces
parts
like hearts
that
now seem
to fail
and arms
too weak
to hold
what once
seemed
quite light
oh
this growing old
seems to be made
of
broken pieces
minds
full of history
but
no one
to listen
nor
will it hold
new thoughts
like before
oh
this growing old
is
full of
broken
pieces
unwrapping presents sharing moments of laughter all’s well in your world a limited world excluding homeless children and those left alone by time have another glass of cheer
man’s greatest madness
those delusions of grandeur
streets paved with pure gold
those seventy-two virgins
there’s no blissful ecstasy
no choir of angels singing
oh you had your chance
but you failed to realize
that the heaven sought
was the warmth of children’s hands
smiles and laughter of old friends
and sweet scents of early spring
guess the clinical definition of depression would apply to a lot of folks these days so many of us having to bury family and friends as the dust from their graves swirls in the winds of hatred it settles on my beliefs turning them ashen but i recall hearing someone say when you’ve laughed more days than you’ve cried it’s been a good life
Read Between the Minds 