My old soul is weary
I’ve been alive too long
Friends of old all dead
Lives buried in insignificance
Stories lost in inexorable time
My old soul is weary
Years have become a fading blur
My demise approaching fast
Gladly I go, gladly I surrender
Hopes and dreams exhausted
My old soul is weary
A fading fossil of myself
The past reduced to dust
A present with little value
All the mountains climbed
My old soul is weary.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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