Its when I can’t stand up,

my feet are planted

but my body fails,

I use my hands upon

the arms of my past

and they become weak

burdened by years of hardship.

At least that’s what my legs think,

only found in my shoes,

my feet hungry and swollen,

holding on to their last vestige,

my back has curled with age,

wanting only to rest,

find some soft pillows,

maybe a summer breeze.

I’m at a standstill in my life,

wondering what is next,

realizing there are years ahead,

how will I define my time.

I’m wondering aloud,

it seems so unnatural

to wish for time ahead,

when the present moves so slow.

I wish for some peace,

in this my quiet release.