Is It Poetry
I hear the world applaud frail limbs grow numb.
Eye's grow dim,
the priest has said no more upon your head than you can bare.
The truth of that small children know to ask.
The hollow tree dark skies lost limbs.
As humans die, alive, myself-what more.
Yes, this and that what more!
How ever deep I sigh, fowever more.
To see the world the distant past thy prophet told.
Ravished eyes to climb such heights and quite now I go.
To spend long days the shorter nights that grow.
And once we are we ever younger, old I feel.
Revelations spring hot prisons, pain I'm tired and so.
It's - all - when we can't hear the world applaud,
the final stage and quite death in living, I was human to.
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Comments about this poem (Old Age by Is It Poetry )
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