Monday, April 29, 2019
Old Age
The creeping and sedulous seize
of Jeunesse, the forlorn of wile and
piddled knavery has culminated
an end, the squinting strait of
love and romance have succumbed
to reticent reveille, the frost of yesteryear
has frozen the reverent ground of trust,
there's no lightly treading over the ashen
cinders of unkempt dreams, the disassembly
of memory and misplaced aspirations that have
moored away any breadth of reconciliation
between recourse and salvage; now, old age
has censured any amends, recounting the
missteps and idled solitary have lodged and
immersed any and all disillusion of purpose,
the gifting disheartenment of clutching lost
ambitions only remind you of the
disembodiment between mortal frailty and
and divine failure.
- John Hardesty
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