When We Grow Old Poem by RIC BASTASA

when we grow old
when our hands begin to lose control
to everything that we want to hold
there is one part that refuses to go with the crowd

it does not flow into weakness
it is not silenced by indifference
it does not succumb to hopelessness


then all of them complain
about its hardheadedness
its irresponsibility

when i grow old and when i begin to forget
it listen to its song
it centers me to life

i lose myself
it mourns