Reblogged from Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems:
I shall not grow old,
into decrepit loneliness; nor
the thousand
plagues upon the way.
I shall not become
the bed-ridden ghost; of
hopes and wishes, now
no more than sediment.
Boredom will not be
given the chance to tick
my life from between the seconds:
I would rather die.
Because I know what I want
I shall not become a puppeteer;
what a nice thing to see done, and your comment – thanks, Jaz