Poetry

Older

Older than the greatest man
I’m but reminded once again
It is not through age
That one becomes a sage
Much less the hope of—well—all

Older than a million those
Who left behind a worthier prose
Why me, I puzzle still,
Who often leave your will
To scribble notes on bathroom walls?

Older than the one who took
A leap to a new chapter in your book
But still looking back
Retracing my pen’s track
A pillar of salt I should long be

One more year, Lord, have mercy on me

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s