Just an attempt at writing, prompted by the word senectitude, which translates into old age. I don't think it's any good, but I want to have it out here as to commit to writing and tracking the changes in my writing if there is any improvement.
If you read, do tell me what you think.
Week 2 Attempt.
As I live apathetically into senectitude,
A part of an inane hive, typically in solitude,
The days pass, almost imperceptibly,
Just like grass, suddenly already hitting maturity.
The old adage of old is gold, echoes hollow in today's society,
Thinking we are chasing prosperity, finding ourselves in austerity,
Treating life as though it is an endless kindle,
Not realizing it is merely akin to a candle.
Many amongst us lie and claim our lives fulfilling,
But honestly if we were to die, would we say we live fulfilled,
Trapped in the pursuit of mindless pleasure,
Often never seeing life's true treasures.
As I write aimlessly about my observations as I go into senectitude,
I try my best to thrive, I try my best to realign my attitude,
To change what would pass, through living optimistically,
But alas, this intention might pass into obscurity.
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