Notes to an aging self

Sometimes I find myself a train of creaking motions, exiled
from that once homeland
of delicious deaths and dazzling devotions

to skies beyond skies, I know
you want to give in, you can’t.
Let go of letting go.
Unforgivable,

is one who bends when he must stand tall,
implacable, against nightfall
on blue distances: Decisiveness is all.

Can’t go gentle, can’t roll over, can’t fold.
Ain’t Youth an old musician
that strikes on weary bones notes of ceaseless insouciance?

Khôi