The years comply
to the rhythm of my slow fading,
the subtle changes that mark the decline of health,
those telomeres that for so long upheld life,
now open the gates to hereditary predilections,
all the possibilities of my demise.
I am ticking clock,
a cycle on its final turn,
skin lesions and strange growths,
discolourations not my own, but painted,
as if a warning of things to come,
a timely cycle of finite measure.
Inbuilt into our every cell,
this process of slow decline, and what that will be
dependant upon our heredity,
the predispositions of imperfection in our DNA,
passed down from our ancestors,
their lives and anomalies written.
Strange to know who I am,
vastly spread through many lives,
past experiences and strife
coded in my every chromosome,
and in contiguous display
the very end of a life so far removed from they.
I shall not be maudlin,
the reality enough by definition,
but it is a clarity to my life to know,
this path I chose has a particular end,
and I shall not even predict, what’s the point,
just knowing I shall lay down with and by my family.
Death seems such a fear to many,
yet life is a map we must all follow,
and no matter what takes us out,
it is the life we imbued in our soul’s learning
that upholds significance,
and death is just another door closing, another life opening.
I feel the slowing, as age grasps my being,
yet I adjust well and move on,
perhaps a little compromised but that is the cycle,
and I must abide not fight the inevitable,
because I am imperfect innately,
as physically I am vulnerable, in soul I am infinite.
Tony DeLorger © 2018