Dead End Poem by Phil Soar

Is my heart afraid it might be close to breaking point?
Has my age caught up on me, and left me frail?
Am I afraid to take on mountains readily?
Or, at my age, am I about to fail?

Is my mind about to pass it's bar-code sell by date?
Has my dream of being comfortable expired?
Will I ever know the meaning of expectancy?
Or am I just too old and too damn tired?

The aches I struggle with are strong and varied
My thoughts are more explicit and too deep
And perhaps the only task that I look forward to
Is getting more of never-ending sleep


Note: this poem is not about the writer, just a comment on ageing.