The Old Fifty-Niner
The Old Fifty-Niner
By Tony DeLorger © 2012
Fifty-nine, far less of a sex act,
age wrapped in a cold pack,
face looks like an old sack,
just how did I get here?
Can't remember a minute back,
just yesterday I was where it's at,
if I could find my glasses I could read the facts,
and who's staring at me in the mirror.
My kids are dad's and those kids are rad,
but it just making me feel kinda sad,
that I'm missing all the stuff that defined a Dad,
a Grandpa is twice removed.
An older life is still filled with strife,
just making the day with all the bills to pay,
when a body aches in slow decay,
and the highs and lows are balanced.
Don't get me wrong,
this old fart ain't gone,
just slowing down but my head's still on,
and I know a thing or two.
The cycle of life just carries on,
you blink and realise it's almost gone,
and what you've done is like an old song,
that keeps rolling through your mind.
So I sit here thinking what it's all about,
this cycle of living and what I got out,
the lovers and wars and the beauty and doubt,
about the purpose of sharing this gift.
In age there's wisdom, at least that's what's said,
but when I roll to the edge of my empty bed,
and see the light creeping into my scrambled head,
I get dizzy from the endless turns.
I guess there's solace in the knowledge of having been there,
having loved and lost and and in the end, cared,
and I am filled with the dreams of what was and wasn't aired,
in this cycle of my life.
In the end, I guess, all you can do,
it give it a go and to oneself be true,
and hold on to all that love's imbued,
and be thankful for all that's been.
At fifty-nine, I tow the line,
my body a memory of what used to be mine,
but at least my voice is still on line,
and for that I remain truly grateful.
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