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Me Aging


Me aging Slowly fading No masquerades Skin so thin Hair around the ear This is funny this is weird What will become of these bones? When I am in the fire ashes and alone- In the winters cold I grow old I hunger to catch the beauty in the air The time will come and the despair… Clinging too tightly to the remains of life This is the first complaint the on-going strife With you I share this fear My dear Time is ticking and moving along With my soul singing preparing the exit song And yet I travail at the itching beneath the wound As I sit at night and stare at the moon And undo the stitch that will release my frozen desires And finally quench this aching fire. Photo: Elohim Om Lotus, Lisette.
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Lucian A. Sperta

Published Author and Poet over 25 books in paper back and digital books Selected American Library Association 2015 Model Citizen 2013 Writer of the Month Meridan 1989 American Society of Authors Composers and Publishers since 1994 #8 Hot Top 100 Hot New Release in Poetry #1 Best in Photo Essay Amazon.com Some people think I expose myself too much in what I say in my poems, I don't consider myself a poet as much as I feel I am a story teller, how can one write subjected to other peoples point of view on how I write, what I write, and how I express myself. This is my journey and self expression is how I choose to deal with it; words, writing has been the outlet where I control without fear, without shame, the pen and paper will never betray you. A poet is one, I believe, can take a surgical scalpel to the soul and let it bleed what it truly feels.....

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Comments (1)

jwiener
More than growing up, this poem really speaks of the fears we have as we age. You personify your soul, saying that it is singing, almost making your soul a separate entity from your actual self, which is a very interesting tactic.

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