I don't know
When I became old.
I don't like it much
As such.
I always thought
I would show my youth
To the ageless
Uncouth
Eternally—
At least to my youthful
Self!

But one day I became "old."
I was told
My chlorestral was high,
My thyroid was low.
My blood pressure was crazed
And my vision was lazed.

What happened to me
To become
This complete
Menagerie of infirmities?
Was it "old"
That caused these symptoms to "show"?
Were they, themselves part of "old"?

Or, was it slowing down
That led the crown of my head
Changing from brown to grey
Today
Towards old?
Is this inevitable and foretold for all
Who are "old"?

Is lack of momentum its cause
Or is it something else
Much more plausible
That stops our climb,
That leaves our energy behind?
Does this change us to "old"
Or does the change
In ourselves
Of pursuit to lack of pursuit
Create old?
Does old pursue us
I ask in disgust?
Is there nothing else
We can do
To halt
Its pursuit?

No, I don't know when I became "old."
But I don't like it much
As such.
I don't like its touch;
Its falls and breaks,
What it takes
From me,
This being old.

Yet what if "old"
Is a transition
To a mode of life
En route to becoming young again?
Would that pen
A different end?
Now, what do you think
Of that,
My young friend?

Dedicated to everyone who feels the aches and pains of being "old." MD, 19 Feb. 2016