Old Age God And Death Poem by James McLain

Distorted by old age my wrinkled limbs
curl up into a ball as I fall asleep.
This is where I dream of being born again
I know that I am clean forever young.
When the Doctor twice that very night
pulled out his knife on me.

Rolling thunder clouds not a single drop of rain.
Does not our God seem overtly in no hurry.
Until the end of time is right to start again
through out this life all live to die we play.
In the fading light of my old age
and death in sleep calls out your name.

Waking up from sleep you cry out what.
She sounded like a man
and she is of one single mind that knows no end.