The worst part about getting older
isn’t how you feel yourself
about to wind up on the shelf, but how one loses sight of what is true.

You buy the lie
That you are old, spent, almost through;
you’ve seen it all.
There’s nothing new.
That tyranny, is far from true.

It is a rank, disgusting lie.

It’s just that you’ve so stored away your every crime,
hidden all from self o’er this lifetime,
blanketed in dusky mysteries,
that you now ignore the good and right,
all your power, all your light
while just ahead lie all your best discoveries.

It’s myth that says a man is done
when he’s had his few short days of sun
that, dwindling down to but a last pathetic few,
contain the pain of having lost, not won,
with precious little else to do,

The fact is there’s a future yet to dawn,
stretching farther than the mere horizon,
as brilliant as dawn ever was…

with each act he can responsibly cause.