Age Is Only A Number
In the twilight of age I search for truth,
denying the evidence of mortality's truth.
Though the hoariness of age I try to hide,
its destructive forces shall not be denied.
A head once graced by blond wavy hair,
seeks to retain the grey residing there.
Eyes once rivaling an eagle's keen vision,
need optic assistance to see with precision.
Ears that once could hear a pin drop,
seem to have retired and closed up shop.
Why do I believe I hear as good as I ever heard,
when people talking to me, seem to whisper every word?
At least my mind is still sharp as a tack.
Except, it doesn't seem to recall things too far back.
It's memory banks are a tad bit overloaded,
by superfluous data which made them eroded.
Though friends say, "age is only a number,"
its degenerative effects I would gladly disencumber.
The theme of this discourse is surely plain to see,
this process called aging, cannot be meant for me!
Therefore, as ridiculous as it may seem,
and sounding much like a romantic dream,
I will continue my Quixotic quest for youth
while disregarding my mirror's reflective truth.
copyright: 2010
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