As I Age Poem by Gregory H. Wlodarski

The passage of time,
I cannot disguise,
As my eyebrows sink down,
My forehead does rise.

Losing so much of my hair,
Is not a cosmetic concern,
I simply don a hat as a shield,
Against at the sun and a burn.

Reading was once so effortless,
As part of the youthful masses.
But now I never leave home
Without my reading glasses.

While I've grown much wiser,
With the passage of years,
Long gray hairs sprout,
From the tips of my ears.

If words are softly spoken,
Some words I will miss.
But one sound I always hear,
Is a perpetual hiss.

If the room is very noisy,
You'll have to speak louder,
‘Cuz I can't tell the difference
Between you and a clowder.

The swan's is so graceful,
The giraffe's is so quirky,
But I've grown the neck
Of an over fed overfed turkey.

I watch the changes over time
In the mirror to my chagrin,
My cheeks have sunken southward
To keep company with my chin.

Yes my knees do squeak
And many joints stiffer got,
But a part I won't mention
Stiffer got not.

At the edge of mountain cliffs,
I used to calmly set.
Now getting on a step stool,
My palms begin to sweat.

No body part is spared
In the process of getting old,
I am reminded of my age
As my feet are getting cold.

No, I don't have laryngitis,
In a conference or dialogue,
I've acquired the voice of aging,
And it's the voice of a frog.

When I was much younger,
Full lips formed my grin.
Now my mouth is little more
Than a slit above my chin.

A peaceful night's sleep
Is part of youthful bliss.
But now I get up once or twice
To take a long and drawn out piss.

For a younger body
I'd immediately switch,
Because while falling asleep,
My legs begin to twitch.

Once muscular and round,
On my posterior located,
My glutei now hang
Like two balloons deflated.

They were once spaced and straight,
Teeth standing all in sync;
Now they're crowded and crooked,
‘cause my jaw's started to shrink.

A muscular chest is manly,
As prized as gold or rubies,
But instead of manly pectorals,
I've grown unmanly boobies.

Ribs usually angle downwards,
But aging has manifested.
Now my ribs are shifted upward,
To make me barrel chested.

Jackson Pollack's abstract paintings,
Of priceless speckles and splotches,
Don't compare to my aging body's growths,
Of increasing spots and blotches.

After my birthday number 69,
My right eye gave me a scare
Flashes and floaters bestow on me
A 20% risk of retinal tear.

Hiking is a passion,
With multi-mile marches,
But now this passion produces pain,
Due to my aging fallen arches.

If you've not yet known
All the changes of time,
Be gracious to all those,
Whose foreheads do climb.