IT’S RECALLING ALL THE RACES RUN

That makes me tend to frown 

and often fret.

It’s recalling that my memory’s gone

Left behind in all the struggles and

The races I never ran

but still regret.

IT’S KNOWING THAT AS A YOUNG MAN I

Had muscles, wavy hair and 

Unspent power that

Fueled my stride.

All receding in some cruelly ebbing tide

Leaving a shell that clings

With diminished self awareness and

Deflated pride.

IT’S NOT LIVING IN A WORLD I NEVER CHOSE

That makes me question 

The young man that stands

Behind the eyes.

It’s living in a body that fails too often

And takes me out of service

With a sudden and disturbing 

Sense of surprise.

It’s feeling shackled and forgotten

In a prison of my Maker’s 

Cruelest device.

A prison whose walls crumble and fall

Once so proud and oh-so tall

Now projecting one’s 

Inevitable demise.

IT’S THE CARESSES AND THE WHISPERS

Of lovers whose final tally 

Will never change.

It’s the walls and fences 

Once there to jump

That leave the fading athlete

blushingly contained.

No more Siren calls to

Draw the man

In search of treasure 

Or hollow fame.

Not even when the Siren calls him out

By his once 

Familiar name.

IT’S THE POWER AND THE FIRES OF MY YOUTH

Thoughtlessly squandered and 

Stupidly spent,

The races I now count as lost

Beyond repair

Whose echoing absence 

I sacredly repent.

Till I cannot count the years

That connive to outgrow my body,

Weaken my resolve and, yes, 

Haunt my soul.

They undo my plans and cause

Me to ask with grim reality, 

When did I ever get 

So fucking old?