Arlene Corwin Poetry

         Not Leaving Life

Everyday each hair grows thinner on the head
(those that don’t fall out instead.).
Are they dead?
Themselves, they know
That they continue growing,
Yet are symbol of the slowing down
Of body-life: a showing
Most distinct and stinking.

Am I sad?
It must be said
That sadness’ presence
Represents an end
One wants delayed
Undyingly.

Signs are symptoms, symbols;
Cymbals loud and clear
To tell you death is coming near.

Not just the hair
But wrinkled parts
That also sling their deathlike darts
Crinkling, corrugating
Causing a contraction into folds
That point again to age and oldness.

Am I mad?
Yes, angry.
Hungry for more years of action.
Talking to the brain to sanction,
Authorize, consent, permit,
Give blessing and thumbs up to ‘it:
Life evermore.

What’s life for
If not to love it, live it?
Certainly not leave it.
Not Leaving Life 8.26.2022 Circling Round Existence; Birth,Death&InBetween III; Arlene Nover
Corwin