Misery Loves Company

I'm on the couch. I'm rubbing my hip. It hurts
To walk from here to anywhere, and, as you might
Expect, I'm in a pretty crappy mood. I've never
Given any thought to growing old. Who does?
Do you? Be honest; you are young and strong.
Have you imagined that might change? Oh, sure,
I felt the slow decay. I ceased to have the urge
To run. I panted after climbing stairs, but,
For the most part, what I'd done I still could do
With some exertion...until very recently. Now,
Suddenly, I'm old and feeble. I can't say,
“Oh, this will change.” I've found the step stones
To my grave, and, though my journey's length
Is not decided, my direction is. I won't play
Baseball in the park. I won't go hiking in
The mountains. I will lay here on the couch
In terror, not so much of death. When it arrives,
The story ends. What I fear is moving toward
It, aching, far from you.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 72 times
Written on 2017-12-14 at 02:01

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