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My Swan Song Will Be- Poem

Updated: Mar 20, 2023

It’s the cruelest

of all life’s curses,


When you’ve grown

out of innocence

and tasted the last

of youth’s decadent glow,


That the gray sets in

and the wrinkles

wither your skin.


You’re left alone to die,

but expected to breathe-

to want to keep going.


Alone in a room

full of ornaments and frames

that taunt you

with the beauty of your past,


You count the birthdays

and holidays

through photos in your phone,

postcards you shakily read.

Each one passing

to an alienating tune

sung by your distant descendants.


You'll want to scream.

Cry.

Beg for company.


You’re forced to agree

while your teeth rot and your bones ache-

That life is precious.

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