LOOKING FROM MY WINDOW

    LOOKING FROM MY WINDOW

Looking from my window, what’s there to see?

Everything is changing and that includes me.

The birds are still singing, the trees are sprouting leaf,

But, outside I’m decaying, inside hiding youthful belief.

The body can’t supply what the mind demands,

The rigors’ of life, a stress on my life’s flowing sands.

                                        ***

Looking from my window and time is running wild,

Were the days always sunny when I was a child?

Bristles and lines etched on an once inquisitive face,

Just bitterness and realism etched deeply in its place.

Watch as the seeds scatter, where blood turns to naught,

Is it too late for the contact that we ought?

                                          ***

Looking from my window at the reflection of youth,

Holding in the excess, to hide the awful truth.

An athletic past showered with pride and sporting gain,

Now the crippled joints, the psychological pain.

Work until retirement, it makes me think why,

Does the blood unite again only when we die?

Phil Hall    April 2011