The Fine Art of Aging


Some days these fingers ache when holding my writing lead
or perhaps it’s my soul keening, wallowing in woe,
How much more must a heart spill with words in black repose
Does not your fingers bleed when grasping too tight the memory of the thorny rose?

Some days these legs falter when I first rise from bed,
with joints stiff and old, cold misery in tainted dawn
remembering lost days of fresh bloom, I mourn
Did I not see my blessings, for my youth was forlorn?

Some days this heart of mine skips a beat with dread
as I gaze upon my weathered face with another line
I remember the smoothness of my skin so sublime
Why didn’t I care more, knowing it must endure for life?

Yet, here in this moment of time, I thrive with my aches, pains, and regrets
for I am grateful and blessed, I can still see with my eyes, and take a breath.

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

Linda Lee Lyberg is a wife, mother, artist, published poet and author. She resides in Mesa, AZ with her husband of 22 years, and her dog, Ricky Bobby. Linda writes various forms of poetry, as well as short stories.
You can read more of her works at:
and her Amazon Author Page

19 thoughts on “The Fine Art of Aging

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