He worked all his life

And retired

Just to watch his soul-mate die

He vowed to live

But grief set in

And trauma ate at his mind

Forgetting basic necessities

Forgetting his loved ones and friends

He slipped into oblivion

His identity blown in the wind

No longer would he sing

By practice only would he smile

Enjoying walks just briefly

Sitting alone is now his style

Assistance for his washing

Assistance for his care

A shell existing aimlessly

Still loved, but no one's there

my bones ache with wisdom and work

while the lines in my face detail evolution—

struggle and laughter,

rage and elation,

confusion and curiosity,

anguish and peace.

i carry every year of myself—

i don't pawn it off with lies

or hide it behind makeup and hair dye.

i let it be.

the burden of age feels heavy at first,

but it becomes comforting—

for here i am another day.

I think old age should be like a new age, a new leaf, a new turn. You go back from whence you came. You start over again. It is a time of new beginnings in an old vessel. Retrofit. Sickness, dying, etc. Just like the media baits the young into thinking they need to be more beautiful, never enough, so do they with the old, but it seems more geared to the pharmaceutical realm. Take this pill, now this one to counteract the adverse side effects of the first. Oh but wait we're not finished with you yet.