Growing old

The cold penetrates my very being,
like the wind that cuts through all pretences.
Distracted, and low,
I am pulled over,
and treated like a criminal.
The bile and anger rises –
I want to be out of this place.

I wonder lost in my world,
beaten and despairing of ever finding
My way, my place, my passion.
Sadness ringing in my ears – I have lost it.
I had my chances
and now I am caught in this placid
Nightmare.

Pray, my son,
prayer might show you the way –
if the Lord will Grace you with His Mercy.

I feel old, and achy.
So many days
I arise with no purpose –
for I have become old.

Yet freer than ever before,
only beset with the absurdities
of life itself.

That is the way —
  is it not?