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Growing Old
Sitting on the bench in endless wait,
our elderly spent their passing time,
staring, searching for the pearly gate,
reminiscing of long ago in their mind.
Growing old and feeble then your dead,
withering, wasting away before our eyes,
they feel useless, a lonely discarded weed,
in pain they moan holding back their cries.
In the world of aging these is no tomorrow,
the plans for the future have all been spent,
time of our youth we learn was borrowed,
in agony they stand all wobbly and bend.
Distant memories continue to fade away,
holding on to yesterday becomes a chore,
waiting patiently to go, but here they stay,
listening for Angels to knock on the door.
Life is an enigma in both living and dying,
a journey from beginning till the very end,
throughout it all we have to keep on trying,
and attempt to hold on to one good friend.
Samuel E. Stone, Copyright© 2010, All Audiences
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