Photo credit: Matthew Bennett
@mbennettphoto unSplash
They say the sunset of life is meant to be
A golden season of serenity
But the sunset clause of life, is a killer
They say there’s many a good tune played on an old fiddle
But who the hell wants to be played like a fiddle
To have your ancient guts scraped by a bow
Your memories, thoughts and dreams just so many notes in someone else’s song
They say that life is a game racing down dangerous lanes
But time is a one way street and a wall is what everyone meets
If time is a game the old must lose first
I say, put your game face on
Put your old face on
Be the woman on a park bench with a bag and a book
And stare with smiling hungry eyes at the young
Be the man who rises to face each upstart punk
With well aged spit and venom
Squeeze from the pain of your swollen joints
A fist to hammer down the truth
There are no golden years
There is no justice from God or books or privileged human precedent
There is nothing but anger from a heart perpetually wounded
Despair from a spirit which sups every night the meal of loneliness
Let no beast or human pass unscathed by your wrath
You are old and you are dying and the young don’t care what you think
To hell with them all
Put your old face on
