In due time, a poem written
By me won’t be about love,
Love lost, politics, or the
World we live in.

And it won’t be
Humorous,

And it won’t be
Angry,

Or sad.

It will be about growing
Old and dying.

The fear we have of both,
Losing love ones, one by
One,

The fear we have doing
Them both, alone.

The comfort and finality
Of death itself.

And neither humor, rage, or
Sadness will appear in that piece.

Because it’s life, and it ends. That’s it.

What’s the use of getting
Emotional about it.

One day, that poem will come,
And like death, I believe it’ll
Come just when I least expect it.