Till the End of Time

When I was in my teens, I figured living to

be in my twenties seemed doable. And so,

I lived on. When I was in my twenties, I

thought seeing my thirties was manageable.

And wouldn’t you know it was, and I lived

on. Then eventually the forties came and as

swiftly slipped away. Oh, there were some

limitations imposed as I grew older by the

day, you know, the onset of some minor aches

and pains. But, what the hell, even though I

faced some physical deterioration, I managed

to muscle through. The fifties flew by as the

gray and wrinkling settled in, an irreversible and

growing condition I realized I had to live with

for the rest of my days. I looked into the mirror

a whole lot less then, and that seemed to help

a little, but nonetheless...The sixties caught up

with me. Some fear the forties, but the sixties

for me with all the previously indulgences,

smoking and booze, the exercising I had failed

to do earlier on...I’d say, with all the previous

excesses and neglect, the sixties were definitely

hell to pay. Having somehow muddled though

decades of excesses and abuse, and now ushering

in my seventy-third year, I have come to under-

stand what all the pundits were talking about

when refering to standing on one’s last leg.

For me, that lone limb to prop me up is weak,

wobbly and painful as hell. Nowadays, I can’t see

advancing much farther while barely holding onto

fragments of my mental capacities and the dwind-

ling measure of self-control. My hero in life has

always been Samuel Clemens, (a.k.a. Mark Twain).

He lived to be seventy-five, a respectable age for his

day. I’d be satisfied meeting up with old Mark at that

natural mile marker in life. In any case, no matter

how old anyone lives to be, when the light fails to

shine, it shall always be known as the grand and

glorious end of time. Although some may harbour

Great Expectations in life, I’d have to say, who in

heaven or hell is keeping count anyway?

-30-

Chris Hanch 1-4-2020