A letter to the decrepit.

I wish I were you.

at the end of life,

staring into the abyss.

I wish we could trade places and you could once again feel the rush of youth whilst carrying my weight.

bend those knees that won’t break.

and I don’t write this to be rude

to be true

I am a shrew

with a tendency to be crude.

this is not a note

I do not yet lay upon my deathbed

but maybe just a wish

or a dream

to cure all that ails me

maybe, I’m just a fool who hasn’t quite learned how to breathe the fire of life

it overwhelms me and gets the best of me

but I stare now into her beautiful brown eyes

her many wrinkles etched into her leather skin

I watch curiously as she looks away

her smile displaced

a glimpse of her toils, washing over her

but the sun shines, immaculately

turning her skin to flowers

blooming so beautifully

a bouquet in my hands


One Comment Add yours

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