Grant Me
as I grow old
you will hold me
still, in high
regard, in your
arms.
when the fringe of
grey is on my
eyes and
my lips require
your aid
canes of steel
and a hopeful gaze
you will keep
me in your reaches.
if I falter
in the pot
and am
stuck in
a clinical limbo
let me go
and feast on
the images
of me, a peach
in her prime.
but don’t
tie it down,
the boughs
of plastic and
linen, the orderlies
lining the halls
of past youth
flip them the bird
and shuffle back
in your plaid pajamas.
and join me.
when you’re ready.
both our souls.
On the grand
celestial roof.
Love,
Muse
From The Diary of An Unlisted Muse 