Polite Poetry seven

Grey Headed Soul

Grey hairs fill my soul

what was first simply weeds in a garden

is now an Amazon, blocking out the sum

The temples of my heart

Varicous veins older streaming as if they were the Nile Delta,

Telling tales of Ages long past hidden ‘twixt decpreit ribs.

Where did the time go-

Can time be lost

Or maybe father time simply grows old

outdated

with grey locks covering his ears and heart

And I-

I foolishly march on

with clippers in hand and dye in the other

Scrambling after the footprints of Gilgamesh

denying myself of the rite of passge of time

For a grey headed soul is not a signal for a last meal of sorrow and regret

but a message from the gods that It has only just begun.