PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Now that we have gone past sixty years old,
I would have thought you would release your hold
on me---you lunge out hot, then run off cold.
Awkward and clumsy, always a class nerd,
lame and myopic, yet always assured
to grasp at any opportunity
to bring forth from the shadows you bestirred

Pride and Lust, twins, and each a moral bastard;
and both of them have all too often mastered
the weakness of my spirit with grim glee.
I do not fear the coming of my death.
The exhalation of my final breath
will be a sigh--relief; and not a frown:
for death, my flesh, will finally put you down.

Starward