All that is aching
An aching reminder
Of dimly-lit dancing
When muscles were kinder
Least the pain disappearing
Amidst gallant laughter
Sore, only from summer
Fireflies, run after
All that is aching
Slathered in ointment
Promising Xrays
Of Life's disappointment
Heat applications
And icy cold treatment
To aide, in release
From the hold of this precinct
All that is aching
Withers cartilage and bone
Into shreds of myself
Yesterday's clone.
This is a brave poem. I don't think I have written anything that looks so completely, so honestly, so forcefully at the inevitable in life. We want to bargain with the Fates, get one on our side, the one with scissors so she doesn't cut the thread. The problem with wishful thinking is that we can indulge in it with only part of our mind focused and before we know it, it's become a bad habit. Well, you dispel all of that compromising, all of that self-deception. That's what makes your title exactly right - it drew me into the poem and there's no place to hide anymore. I read comments by two other readers. They too appreciate your candor.
A salve for the most aching of muscles... spread fully and gently worked in with loving kindness... beautifully written dear poet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fell better always healing comes slowly And use accepted medicine only