Saturday, October 1, 2016

Poem

the older I get
the more who are
dying at my age
or younger

the more
my own passing
becomes probable

the more
I worry about
having control
over my own exit

the rub is this:
making the decision
before circumstances
make it for me

and knowing when
it's time to act
too late a disaster
too soon a waste

ah the glory
of the existentialist!

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