By: Alex
And one day
I will be old.
Grey, tattered; but full of
memory.
My hair threadbare,
Soul deep and rich;
As I see in your
eyes.
I wish to carry
This age, this
Experience, with your same
dignity.
And when I am worn thin,
I will leave my mark,
My influence, my words on this
world.
There should be no tears
At my passing, but secretly
I hope this to be
untrue;
I wish for drunken
Wailing, my words
Sobbed through non-stifled
tears.
I long to be there, to
See my children and their children,
And hear their memories turned to
speech.
Distilled into perfunctory
Phrase is not enough
You all must write your own
poem.
These things I ask of you
When I am time-worn and
Decayed. When I am no longer able to sink in your
eyes.
This is my living wish.
For our days are precious
And who knows when it is my
time?