deepundergroundpoetry.com

the wages of age

I have begun my hollowing.
I have started to forget
almost everything that I have ever learned;
What’s more,
I am no longer thrilled,
as in my yesterdays I was,
to learn or seek
what I once fought for time to lose myself within.
Nothing that I read remains for long
inside my brain.
The joy of turning pages for discovery and transport’s dead.
My books seem full filled up
with dust and scribblings.
Names of women whom I loved,
of friends,
that once were household words to me
resist my conjurings to memory.
I am an old man in an old man’s shoes.
I have no wish to journey anywhere.
Even England sings no longer in my bones.
I am not roused by sin.
Concupiscence's a thing unknown.
And I am dull to every beckoning,
even those that promise pleasured ends.
I part my hair behind.
I tremble when I mount the stair.
My days are like a wet brown bag,
sagging and unable to contain
anything of density or weight.
Written by Baldwin
Published
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