The image in the mirror
Stares at me not
Yet I take in
Every detail of its character
When did I lose my youth
When did I get to this point.
I ask this beautiful woman
Standing before me
My wife
Lovely graying hair
My beard
Now white as snow
I ask of her
When did we start aging
As I hold the softness
Of her not so wrinkle hands
She smiles
Guiding me
Into the shower stall
I see my grand children
All eight
Now no longer cute
All grown
My oldest is 20
Handsome lads
And beautiful princesses
I ask of them
Remember me
That one day
When you wake up
On a beautiful morning
Look in the mirror’s
Reflexion within
Ask yourself
When did I start
Getting old.
Getting older!I thank for this day for being able to read this great poem of yours which stands first in the popular list today and I have become your fan! Better late than never. The most handsome face that i recently appreciated and closely watched , it is imprinted freshly in my mind is the face of my poet uncle who recenly passed away at 97. ( read my poem on him .The Grand old man fell silent)
When you start spending to much time gazing into the mirror
and not spending enough time with those who are dearer.
Yesterdays become too far in the past, todays go by so fast and tomorrows, well they never come. We just leave our imprint on the glass.
Excellent reflective thoughts in this poem William. I am involved in a youth ministry for troubled teens. These kids appreciate us old dudes visiting them and spending time serving them lunch and sharing with them some wisdom from the Bible or from our troubled past. What they do not know is how much we are blessed by being able to help out. It also helps us to feel like kids again. Do you think they care about our wrinkles or gray hair? Most of these kids have no parents at all or they have parents with a drug addition. Well that's what helps me forget about myself because I am too busy helping others. It's not for everyone but it's a blessing for some.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Share
Print
Save
Follow
It's a privilege denied
to many
Lady Vivian
Enjoyed.
Always,
Deborah
Of Growing Old Gracefully...
Momma Died Old Lady' Home(Miserably)Pittsburgh-
Asshole Brothers Lied -1 Paid Her Funeral-Money$
Came Out Her Own Estate- Bury In Free Tomb Next
My Bastard Daddy-Inwhile Other Brother Took My Bastard
Daddy (Beat Me To Death Twice) In Winters
Let Momma Die Old Lady' Home Pittsburgh!Why?
He Collects His Money$,Stock$,Bond$,
$1,000's Worth Tools--Brother Evil SOB Dead!
Death Isn't End When I Get To Holy Hell He Isn't
There As Daddy--I Find Them Beat Them To 2nd Deaths
Throw Them In Head 1st.....REVENGE Is SWEET...
Why'd I Write This Like I Told
Momma Poem(I'll Post Again )You
Mr Bonilla White Beard Getting
Old Or Not:
GROW OLD GRACEFULLY...
We All Will Die (Death Is Inevitable) It Is
Where You Go (End Up At)Whence Death Arrives!!
I Thank (God) For Nothing Other Than:
My 2 Hands,Brain,Intelligence,Wit Carry It Off,
Muscle And Brawn To Back It Up!!
Find Something Do With Your 2 Hands...
Tears, TRASK...
I had 1,744 of them...at last count. :)
Great write.
Ron
Anna
budd
gliding the life. Nicely expressed.
best wishes
neerja
and not spending enough time with those who are dearer.
Yesterdays become too far in the past, todays go by so fast and tomorrows, well they never come. We just leave our imprint on the glass.
God Bless,
John Michael
Love ya!
Jane