Not Yet
Blue-eyed Old Soul
Dabbling at life
With tattered brush
And shit-stained palette
Smelling of excess
More than success
As he staggers on
A Pentagenarian now
Looking in the mirror
Not seeing life abundant
Wondering if he has
Fiddled his best away
Knowing not what the rest
Of his days may hold
Feeling old, leaden
But not dead...not yet
Image courtesy of: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Arnold_Boecklin-fiedelnder_Tod.jpg
Thanks for the inspiration, E
7 comments:
Ooh, not a self-portrait, I hope. Great poem though. Shit-stained pulled me up short.
I like this poem. Leaden, but not dead. I can identify with that -- some days more than others.
the days ahead, different perhaps but still glorious.
Well based on your recent fabulous poetry I'm pretty sure that the days ahead will be dark & beautiful... Which seems an appropriate mood in which to write your book, don't you think?
I know these sentiments well...beautifully expressed my friend...
Every now and then that is just how I feel when I look into the mirror. Old and leaden but not dead...emphasis on "but not dead...not yet." I do love your way with words. Where can I pre-order your book?
Not dead; not yet, but always running from his hot breath. This, I understand.
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