writing for self-discovery

Too Much Truth

Age gives rise to strange thoughts…

I blinked, and youth became yesterday

My children approach fifty

My grandchildren are the singularity

The great parody of life

That we become humorously exaggerated imitations

of our former selves

An excess of saggy skin over stringy muscle

Deeply etched lines that trace smiles and frowns

long gone

Oversized joints that prefer the part of Newton’s

Law that states:

Objects at rest prefer to remain at rest

Inertia hurts less

Vision that tends to look inward more clearly than

outward

Ears that grow large but hear little

Hair once raven, or red, or flaxen

Now gray

Only gray, like the ash of a burned-out fire

But we are not burned out!

We may appear grotesque and vacant behind

rheumy eyes

Our warped forms serve to disguise the sizzle and

spit within

The knowing that comes from decades lived

And the rage that flares when we are

Overlooked, or coddled, or condescended to

We are not invisible, incapable,

Or insignificant

And yes, we are closer to death than 97.2% of the

world’s population

So listen up!

When we die, our wisdom dies with us

The last generation to grow old naturally,

Passes away

And so does this world as we know it.