The End Game

They asked me how it feels to be an octogenarian and I am at a loss for words. So for you who are curious, I wrote the following poem some time ago, but did not offer it for use until now.

It comes quietly

so unexpected

and mighty.

It shatters complacency

and avoids reality.

Mere existence ceases,

comfort goes,

The being slowly destructs

as ordained

by nature.

It is attack—attack

on body and mind,

Aches and pains or

dementia and deterioration

until the end.

The assailant—old age,

unavoidable,

destructive.

Yet at the end a gift

to the superannuated.