04-14-2020, 02:13 AM
Getting Older
It seems that my only purpose in life
is to irritate my children. My mind drifts,
a sluggish glacier. Every day
this coldness grows. I am numb
to their songs, or their dreams
of being multimillionaire YouTubers.
I tell them that everything new
will be old before they notice. What shines
will dull; what blossoms will fade.
When someone actually follows
them, it will all be gone—replaced.
They glare and speak slower and speak louder,
annunciating each word as if I’ve lost
both hearing and sense. I remember
when I was like them and was comfortable
knowing everything.
It seems that my only purpose in life
is to irritate my children. My mind drifts,
a sluggish glacier. Every day
this coldness grows. I am numb
to their songs, or their dreams
of being multimillionaire YouTubers.
I tell them that everything new
will be old before they notice. What shines
will dull; what blossoms will fade.
When someone actually follows
them, it will all be gone—replaced.
They glare and speak slower and speak louder,
annunciating each word as if I’ve lost
both hearing and sense. I remember
when I was like them and was comfortable
knowing everything.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson