Alcohol, for it has done its duty.
Future, for what remains is anemic.
Past, for it is already where it belongs.
Hope, for there is no longer time to learn Greek or conquer Everest.
War, for there is nothing more to say.
Cemetery, for it overflows with friends and lovers.
Body, for it doesn't take orders and runs to fat and rigidity.
Money, for it has proven its worth and amounted to nothing.
Love, for it belongs in the vocabulary of youth.
Justice, for it is not a feature of this life.
Death, for it shall arrive soon enough.
And so many more.
What blazes at thirty is best forgotten and interred at sixty.
Dictionaries shrink and thesauri shrivel to essential bone.
Resignation displaces inspiration as it ought.
Poetry devolves into abstract thought.
Let us wear our lives like worn out clothes,
draped on the thorn of the wilted rose.
- mce
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