On Aging

Taking stock in my 70's, I think,
Foo, I'm the same fellow
I was at twenty,
with a bit less energy,
somewhat more certain either way
about my shrinking future--
dead and uncaring,
or transcendantly alive,
a spirit properly incredulous
and grateful--not a bad deal.

Everyone my age wonders
where the time went;

I know where it went,
preoccupied with number one,
and constantly denying it.
We called that sin, but now I think
I really missed the point
when I forgot to look inside,
behind the skin, to find
the spirit there already, looking out
upon the world I made,
manipulated, then laid out
for visitation that I hoped
would mercifully be brief.

Such is not the case.
A man gets patronized for what he is, compromised
for what he wants to be.
We dodder, so we're told,
a point against us on the scale
of worth, of dignity--wise we are
when we are called to be,
and otherwise when passengers
upon our cosmic ship are not
so well equipped with consciousness
as we, and mindlessly
race off to war.

So let it be.
So let the ages line us up
by phalanx in the quest for life or death,
and we shall march to our last breath
as some imagined victory we could not
set aside, loomed much too far ahead,
and we shall march,
and we shall march...
never looking back behind our eyes,
yes, we shall march.