Thicker In the Middle

The pictures on the wall are kind of crooked. The mem’ries in my head, starting to fade. That guy there in the frame was better looking. The mirror shows what passing time has made. Each moment going by is lost forever. Each day that passes brings with it more gray. Every “someday” morphs into a “never.” Every youthful dream given away. Those pictures, well, they’re all kind of misleading: A moment frozen, nothing more or less. The hairline, like the mem’ry is receding. Makes my mental image quite a mess. But every moment we have should be treasured. And each day is much more precious than gold. The true worth of a life cannot be measured And a spirit young-at-heart will not grow old. Those pictures on the wall will not get clearer. Just one more in the trove of memories. So I’ll just quit my gazing in the mirror And try to ponder greater mysteries. For though I’m growing thicker in the middle And thinner on the top as days pass by, I’ll one day find the answer to the riddle That plagues us as we slowly age: why? 6/3/19 A contest on aging Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Emile Pinet