Here is my go:
Am I dying
Or just getting old
Are the skirts too short
For this mortal soul
When the dogs drool
Over their dish
Devour the scraps
From their masters lips
I’ll take my time
Slow and sure
And lift you up like I
Know who you are
And I’ll paint the floor
From the wall to the door
And lift you up
Like I know who you are
Am I dying
Or just getting old
This cough makes me wonder
And wander back home
When I was young, I felt confident and wise Now that I'm old, I feel wrong and unsure the truth lies somewhere in the middle When I was thin I thought I was fatter than I was Now that I'm fat I think I'm thinner than I am the truth lies somewhere in the middle When I was a dreamer I thought that money didn't matter When I woke up, I realized that money can't not matter. the truth lies somewhere in the middle I used to dream all the time It's harder now to dream And the truth lies somewhere in the middle
I relate to this a lot. Especially the part about weight. I look back at pictures and think to myself, “damn, you were thin.” But back when the photo was take my perception of myself was that I was fat or looked out of shape.
For steve He has half-convinced himself that we — 1.6 hundred miles apart — are in a torrid love affair. I check my temperature. 100.6 Is the word “torrid” setting me aflame Or corona virus warming me this long, cold Canadian April? I wait for spring and hope for torrid summer nights.
By the way, "maple-washing" is an expression used to describe our tendency in Canada to use our good image to cover up problems.
Take good care Lil. If you have a fever, let’s hope it is a result of steve‘s flirtations and not the virus. Thanks for sharing the poem. Much love from Michigan!
This hits hard. I’m sorry for your loss, rezzeJ. There are often no words at the end, yet much communicated.