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There is a poison spreading in my heart
That I call age
I do not mean a smoker’s lungs
An elder’s heart disease
There is a poison spreading in my heart
That I call age
That tastes like giving up
And feels like
The home of a soldier’s battlefield
- Nearing the end of war
With no peace left to retrieve
There is a poison spreading in my heart
That I call
The death of childhood
Where the birth of burden is conceived


It spreads the way death does
Through life
Slow and steady
And both the turtle and the hare cross the finish line
Slicing through the birthday cake each year
Blowing out the candle lights
The radio drowns out
By the sound of a heavy wisdom

Not yet though

There is a poison spreading in my heart
That has not yet devoured it
And until it does
I refuse to accept its suffering
I like to call it "age"

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Its' all in ones mind ////if you can still compose epicurial poems ////surely you are spreading no poison
Your heart beats from such a far distance I can hear
and I'm aged and deaf
know thee

A nice piece, like the use of white space. Being an older guy, the age “thing” here doesn’t exactly appeal to me either. Not too sure about the soldier’s battlefield analogy.

Maybe some fine-tuning is in order, I’d go back and see if the images need to be ( or are) the focus you want the reader to have.

Keep writing, i’m looking foreward to seeing more!

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