Older

The older I become, the more I am modified
By the hands of God, the only true supernaturalism;
My heart beats as a jacket, my head is morose
And my story of my body objects to the topic.
Then study the very fashion this decade
And girls and boys do play forever with hearts.
Slapping is an engineer in the making,
We thought their residence was safe,
We think that wishes are caught in a net and fulfilled.
This old age has crept up on me, like bigger men,
To be big is wonderful but even in old age

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!