Old and wise

I imagine myself sometimes
Old wrinkled and wise.
Cackling in the corner 
Of some bawdy gaudy bordello.
Watching an endless parade
Of taut smooth and bright
Stare at images reflected infinite
Of themselves
As they wonder why.
Dismissing answers repeated
Stories that describe
The human condition as it is
And not the soft comforting lies.
Stubborn refusals to believe
What happened before might apply.

After all youth is conveniently arrogant,
And experience seems to reside
In bitter vehement anger
Or resigned tired compromise.
I imagine blue velvet cushions
On a bed wide and high
Impassioned intense speeches
Of love, hate and pride.
Why did he do it? Why did she not?
Why not just say it? Why tell lies?

It couldn’t be stupidity, fear or power
Hungry ambitions undenied.
It definitely isn’t lazy indecision
Or base wanton desires.
It must be something lofty
I imagine I would smile
And nod, maybe cackle louder
At gloriously bemusing life.


Old and Wise
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