grey hairs

To punch a wall,
Light a cigareete, deep
Breathe, inhale, feel
The burn bite deep in
Throat, taste the sour
Acrid smoke, nurse the
Bloody knuckles, and
Wonder where the basest
Emotions spring from, within
This chest, from under breast,
Deep inside the core, need
I say anything more?

What caged lionmonster
Paces within, growing older
Days shorter, growing double chin,
The tea-time Sunday of life’s
Short weekend, the 30’s half-
Way done, teens long past,
The forties bearing down, all
Too fast, hair thinning, greys
Sprouting, don’t know about
Innings, yet it’s been a good
Outing, so far, not so bad, yet
Somehow still quite sad, not just
What I’d hoped for, yet more
Happiness than ever had, this
Stillness, a dream, this patience
Like steam from the shower,
Leaving skin soaked clean through,
Not half of life lived, the yoke sat
Quite skew, dragging half of me
Down, no lower than ground,
Which in my own personal health,
Is as good as could be hoped
For lower than that I have been
For so long, that ground level is
At least solid, something strong.

A place to stand, but not for
Long, for the changes that
Come, as we grow each old tonight
Bring the dawn of a new day, the
Taste of the future, though teasing
Still bright, blinding me to my
Own, still feeling for what is right,
Striking out on my own, no fear
Is the only way forward, for fear
Is the ultimate leach of the soul,
Crippling our very being through
Unfair weight and poor sight.

This is not the end, nor even
The beginning. This is the middle,
Time to start building. Foundation
Is strong, bricks easily formed,
Mortar of tears thickened by years
Of being bourne.

And me in the middle, still young,
Laughing, as the walls of a new
Place grow all around, this is me
This is mine, it is home which I
Have found.

Home, to build
On finally solid ground.

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