Next week the old man will be eighty,
he reflected over that number, when he was young
it sounded like an eternity, yet here he was
not blind and not in bed, feeling ok.
He used to feel bad not achieving anything worthwhile in life,
not it didn`t matter, and he continued to write
as it was the only thing, he knows how to do, not philosophical
deep ploughing stuff that would shake the world
into sanity, the last three sentences made him giggle,
mainly because his arrogance wasn`t yet subdued and anyway, sanity was boring.
There would be virtual cakes on the facebook and
messages from 400 friends, this made him laugh out loud,
having so many friends one has never met is an irony
only the banal could take pride in.
To be eighty is a good time his view is bigger now, he
can see from here to eternity