Grow Old

It is sad to grow old.
The pain throbbing from stem to stern
Like the watery eyes that run for no reason.
The plumbing that runs off and on.
The kind old hands have all wrinkled and become ruff.
The teeth have all gone, but there is no reason
Or no one to smile for.
Laughter grows old for there is no laughter
To share when you are alone.
The ears that can only hear the echo down the hall.
The walk becomes a shuffle.
The purpose in life has gone.
The hibernation in my old rocking chair
In front of my old faded TV or is it my eyes ?
The only screwing that is being done
At my house has to do with my reading lamp.
There is no reason to call anyone
For they have all gone their own way.
Everyone talks about yesterday never tomorrow.
The only thing I lean on is the memories when I was young.
Evening shadows are the only thing that keeps
Me company at night.
The only time I do my crying is in a rain storm
For I am on the short side of life for I am getting old.

By Brock