On Aging...

I was a player now a spectator
I question why, no one answers
I think the same but perform poorly
I remember but then forget
I see but no longer understand
I reach out but am ignored
I crave affection but receive only words
I want to touch but people recoil at wrinkled hands
I desire mainstream but an warehoused
The warehouse has others bewildered
and questioning why
When did I stop being me to everyone?
When did I become just a potted plant
to be watered and fed from time to time?
Why am I shelved waiting for the the end.
Why are they more concerned with what
I leave while in still here.
My worth is reduced to words on a page
and a illegible shaky signature.
Perhaps in the next life I will once again
be me.
Written by anvinvil (Anvillan)
Author's Note
So difficult to understand...
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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