The older I grow, the more trying the chore

I expect of myself

Much more than before

Though I seem much stronger, in so many ways

I grow weak from my thoughts, of narrowing days

My three minds pull my eyes to numerous scenes

They fight with my focus, as if they are dreams

My hands shake madly, from towers of fear

I‘d be so able

If my worries were clear

But my path is scattered with too many holes

I see my face staring back

With too many goals

I wish I could live through my childhood views

So quiet

So passive

With nothing to lose


But No,

That is not, the way I will age

There are a thousand things I must etch on this page

And though my mind is crowded

Like a wayward mass

Inclined to shatter, like a toppled glass

I will fight the mayhem, that vows to build

Knowing my purpose, can never be filled

But I will do what I can

Up to the day I should die


Like child, Like man


I will never not try