Getting old

I know we don’t like to
talk about getting old,
for it is speeding at us
and we cannot avoid
the collision to come.

This is the condition
of our creatureliness
that we share with all
living things that also
come to this end of
days where youth is
dissolved in the cauldron
of time’s acidic brew.

I see it there in front
of me: the person who
once delighted in the
taste of life, now is
limited, confined, and
carrying frailty like a
broken, useless shield.

So, shall I weep for those
whose days of revelry are
gone and who now face the
master, time, and navigate
the smaller world that is
gifted at the conclusion
of this play whose end
is no surprise at all?

Shall I weep for you,
dear friend?

Yes, I will, and also for
myself, but I will also
smile as I recall all that
time has overseen and allowed,
and all the love and joy that
has accompanied this travail.

Let us speak then of getting
old in all its humanness,
with an honesty that
brings the sacredness of now,
and as creatures who accept
this destiny that is no destiny at all.