He said…

He said…

Pick me up

From where I fall

If you must

It hurts more

To need the support

Than to ask for it

Nothing is as difficult

As the acceptance

Mortality is acquired

With wisdom

Perhaps ignorance

Would suit me better

Hang gliding

Would be an adventure

Instead of a worry

About the landing

Miss timing a step

Is close to fatal

Broken bones

Are slow to heal

Scratches seem to scar

For life

A simple bruise

Takes forever to fade

When was the last time

I fought Ali

From the look

Of my swollen eyes

It must have been last night

Paper thin skin

Barely covers

What used to ripple

But now has lost

Definition

Or simply disappeared

Age is a bi-product

Of life

It can be embraced

But squeeze with

Consideration

I may be wiser

Than yesterday

But how fragile

I am

Is no longer

A matter of conjecture

I survived the rough

And tumble

Of the turbulent years

Only to find

We become

Less robust

Regardless of wear and tear

No longer a lord

Of destiny

But a kinsman of rust

Pick me up

If you must

And remember

One day this old

Bag of bones

You find so disgusting

Will belong

To you.