Old

Old

A Poem by Sam

Its black under my nails,
Dirty.
I look down
And it's slack,
No elastic
Dropping quick.
Where's the washboard?
I ate, I ate, I ate.

Getting old really is a tragedy.
Everyday etches a new line
Every bite bloats my mannequin frame,
There's no mystery to it
Hair recedes.

Stupid cupid really needs to shoot me up
I like them fresh faced,

Virile and lively,
Old and ugly, my pages yellow,
Dog eared
The cover worn.

 

Maybe someone who collects antiques
Will snap me up
Fifty pence and
I'll sit on your shelf,
Dust me off at your leisure,
Finger my pages,
So full of life.

© 2008 Sam


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this is an interesting poem. i like the imagery "Dust me off at your leisure, Finger my pages, So full of life." something everyone can relate to. well written.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on October 1, 2008

Author

Sam
Sam

UK, United Kingdom



About
My writing says more about me than I could ever type here. more..

Writing
How It Feels. How It Feels.

A Poem by Sam


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A Poem by Sam