I am afraid of growing old
and not for trivial reasons
like wrinkles and grey hair
and not even for more concrete reasons
like the inability to run
or bend and touch the ground,
no.
I am simply afraid of the day
where people will stand around me,
so many people
with faces crowding crowding crowding
and mouths talking talking talking
and yet
without me understanding
a word of what they say.
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly Ripples
PoetryButterfly ripples through water and wind fluttering petals, whispering wings. Words swing 'round trees carried in a breeze of butterfly ripples so do as you please. But don't taunt their song of water and wind: to it they belong and so they will sin...
