I Won'T Play The Game Poem by Phil Soar

I’m sixty three, my mind tells me I’m ten
Except for all the pain, now and again
My aches and pains will be the death of me
I feel like ten, but I am sixty three

I feel like I’m a kid, but ageing fast
I wonder how long I will really last
My mind behaves in ways I can’t explain
My body needs relief from random pain

My thoughts and memories mix into a soup
No longer do I feel so cock-a-hoop
I long for bed, but not to romp and play
Just to sleep and dream the night away

My interests are now based on how I’ve aged
I do things in a sort of old age rage
What once was easy now makes little sense
In matters of my state, I’m on the fence

So though I’m ten inside, I’ve lost the plot
A downward spiral now, is all I’ve got
An yet I still refuse to play the game
And love to play the fool now and again

A child is what I am, so people say
My actions really give the game away
Nobody plays along but thinks I’m mad
This is the best time I have ever had

I’m Sixty three, but I am really ten
Who knows what I’ll do next, or even when
I sit on clouds of laughter, not remorse
And love the way my life seems so off course