Endgame

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing… WBY

As life winds down, I must
search for the missing key
that turns the lock to tomorrow
and reveals what to do
as the clock runs out.

I have checked off all
the traditional boxes.

Now I must be inventive
or slide into lonely despair.

Hopelessness is a terminal disease.

Succumb to it and I am done,
left waiting around to die.

Where can that magical key be?

Only effort can show me a way
to live on with dignity,
to remain vital, awake, and free.