Too old for this:
summer sneaked in between rains,
a single unexpected day,
the pound of migraine even waning,
the ache of everything only half there,
somehow almost forgot.
Too old
for windless warmth,
for uncovered, naked blue.
Too ugly, now, with age
to look outside my dreams
and see the actual, the real
as somehow still good
and for a moment
not to be left behind.
Too old for love,
for loving again all I see.
Too old, yet even more so, much more,
for that other unnamed cupid
that too-dangerous archer,
too dangerous even to be mythologized
who has shot my heart right through,
unexpectedly with hope
between the rains.
Too old for this
but nevertheless.
Erich von Hungen is a writer from San Francisco, California. He lives under a giant Norfolk pine in a century old house between Golden Gate Park and the Pacific Ocean. His writing has appeared in The Write Launch, Versification, Green Ink Press, The Hyacinth Review, IceFloe Press, Fahmidan Journal, and others. He is the author of four poetry books. The most recent is “Bleeding Through: 72 Poems Of Man In Nature”. Find him on twitter @poetryforce.
Rough Diamond Poetry 