Recollection Poem by Cody Osterberg

These ideas to which I am unsold,
About as real as fools gold,
I'm not so easy to cajole.

I'm alive or so I'm told,
I used to be so bold,
but now I've lost my hold.

In my youth I feel so old,
My heart has grown so cold,
And I am ready to fold.

Oh how could I have foretold,
The way my life would unfold,
That I would lose all control.

And now as I behold,
This mess I call my soul,
It seems impossible to remold.