I have nothing to do,
No one to see,
And nowhere to go.
I would have thought this was heaven,
Just a few years ago.
But even then, I wondered
What it would be like to be retired,
Unrequired, and now, sadly,
Alone. To the very bone
And marrow of my soul.
Stretched to the limit of loneliness,
Like a heart shrink-wrapped in melancholy,
Crushed and bound, allowed no air.
Losing faith in all that was ever holy.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
We were supposed to spend these years together,
Finally able to spend all our time in our own company,
Which was all we ever needed or wanted.
The vaunted “golden years” have turned to brass,
And corrosion eats away the time
To pure, tainted torture.
But as Hemingway was wont to say:
“Dans la vie, il faut d’abord durer.”
In life, one must first endure.
| Copyright © 2023 by Roger Owens |
Roger, many hearts are with you. Creating something so fine as this poem demonstrates the worth of pursuing art while you’re enduring.
ReplyDeleteOh Roger, what a heartbreaking yet eloquent poem. I myself have many fears about retirement. With all of my work travel, I suspect I may simply go down on Southwest Airlines. But I have to echo Morris' comment above. Your artistry keeps flowering. It is much appreciated.
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