71

It's my birthday today. I'm seventy one. There's not much
To celebrate. I've gotten old and become but a list of annoying
Afflictions, a heart that beats wrong, a hip made of metal,
A spleen swollen up by excessive white blood cells, and word
That things aren't going right with my kidneys. I tire too
Quickly, and pass through a world long leached of its novelty.
I cannot find things engaging or pleasing, since everything I see
Already is known. Exhaustion, discomfort, a hollow existence;
Given that these have accrued with the years, should I sing,
Happy birthday to me?





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 37 times
Written on 2024-09-13 at 23:41

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Happy birthday, my friend. Those afflictions paint wisdom on your shadow. Blessings and brotherly love, Allen
2024-09-14


alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
I must say, you are a hard stuff to chew if not impossible...71? life can be experienced through pain too, medications are there to say it's real (at least the effects on the body are real)
I like your style, uncommon, always new words to masticate, clever, sometimes with deeper meanings sensed into your text
thank you for being here after alll this time, you didn't get bored...and Happy Birthday
2024-09-14