Why am I lying on this bed?
Looking and feeling, like I'm dead,
People, hustling, bustling by
Don't see the tear, falling from my eye.
They tell me that, I'm not well,
Tranquilised brain, how can they tell.
In this invalid Motel,
Waiting for the dinner bell.
No more usefull, to my kin,
Only half of of what I've been,
Thrown into a garbage bin,
Dribbling through my silly grin.
Can't tell people when I'm cold,
Punishment, for growing old.
Times of laughter, times forgot.
Abandonded by those, I loved a lot.
Children see me once a year,
They don't want to see my fear.
Waiting every single day,
Hopeing that they'll pass my way,
Bring some sunshine to my life,
But they're too busy, to relieve my strife.
So now I lie here, all alone,
I think It's time to breathe a sigh,
Close my eyes, and say goodbye.
Growing old is a scarry thought. We must make our lives for ourselves and not for others. Smile and write poetry or paint a picture with paint or words. Growing old can be fun if we live for ourselves and not through others. :)
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader)
Reviewed on April 28, 2003
I can relate to this it is a empty hollow feeling when all you hear between tears is your soul scraming like a banchee....
Hugs
Peggy
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
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Tami
Excellent message,
Reindeer
Hugs
Peggy