Somehow I'm back where I started.
I entered this world with nothing
and I'll damn sure leave it
the same way.
Should I be disappointed?
Have I failed to let my "reach
exceed its grasp? " On this point
I don't know. But I do know that
my death will define my life.
The Bible states that one's death
is more important than one's birth
because at birth you're an unknown
quantity. You have no history,
no meaning yet. All you have is a name.
I wanted so much more from life.
Now that I'm 70 I have the time
to meditate on my sins. I say to hell with
it. Nobody cares and I won't either.
The calamitous days are here.
Life is not getting easier and the
golden years, the halcyon days,
are anything but.
I get little pleasure from them.
I am not satisfied with my days.
I used to ask why. Now I don't
care. I see the candle getting dim,
the wine of life no longer sparkles,
the eye has lost its luster.
Yet somehow I don't give up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem