Old Man's Folly (Où Est L'amour? Y A-T-Il De L'amour? Je Ne Pense Pas! - bien Que Je Souhaite Ardemment...) Poem by Sinclair Rogers

Euphoric, fond illusions,
Dreams of love…from my always,
Have become, nothing more
Than an old man's folly;

With days spent, in solitude,
I find distractions in my work,
But as night descends,
And loneliness becomes unbearable-
I venture into night...
A substance-less shadow-
Where there too, loneliness,
Tries to overwhelm me;

As I struggle
Against my alienation-
My feeling of belonging nowhere,
Nor to no one-
I force my delusion
Of believing I am what I once was,
Young;

And, in my elderly self-deception,
I know money screams to ladies of the night,
Money, I didn't need, or have
When I was handsome and young,
With now, I pay the price…
Of appeasement;

I hire the illusion of love,
And escort my lost hope
Of dreams being realized,
Knowing it is not real-
Nor will it ever be…
Not even the possibility of fantasy,
Any longer;

There is no release
Of my perpetual loneliness,
In monetary release…

So, upon separation,
I am devalued for the futility-
Rudely awaken! …again;

Remitting price, for the priceless…
I dare not show my weakness,
The pain
Of my persistent disillusionment
In an old man's folly….