A reflection on growing old in a country I no longer recognize. Not sure if I was too naive or just ignorant or both combined. Probably the latter.
in a room filled with keepsakes
she drinks a glass of bourbon
to meet the day halfway.
Once she believed
that people were mostly good,
the bad ones paid the price, and
her country, the standard bearer
for democracy, would never fall,
never fail.
The news is propaganda,
competition for likes,
or hates;
does it even matter?
It’s the click that counts.
She is sinking beneath it,
stone upon stone.
This is not how she imagined
her golden years.
One day she will not
wake up,
free to face eternity
in a place she believes
is light and truth.
Until then, she toasts the silence.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-03-26 at 01:56
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Until Then
Sitting in silencein a room filled with keepsakes
she drinks a glass of bourbon
to meet the day halfway.
Once she believed
that people were mostly good,
the bad ones paid the price, and
her country, the standard bearer
for democracy, would never fall,
never fail.
The news is propaganda,
competition for likes,
or hates;
does it even matter?
It’s the click that counts.
She is sinking beneath it,
stone upon stone.
This is not how she imagined
her golden years.
One day she will not
wake up,
free to face eternity
in a place she believes
is light and truth.
Until then, she toasts the silence.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-03-26 at 01:56
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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