Member Poem

I watch you with my envious eyes, as you swirl and twirl in your youth.
Slim, lithe bodies, pirouette, their beauties on display.
Men dancing, like moths around the candle, till they sizzle and burn.
Laughing sardonically, I watch them, and inwardly sneer.
They have no chance, these old, burnt out shades.
Foolishly believing, for a snapshot in time, that these green shoots,
Are impressed with their wrinkled, parchment skin and grey hairs.
These young spring buds, will one day wither,
But now dance like Salome, enticing, seducing,
To win old men’s heads on a platter.
 
I was like you once. Skin soft, supple, iridescent with youthful glow.
It was me for whom the lustful danced, in their peacock display.
I spurned them. Castrated, by my malevolent glance.
Taking their manhood, tossing it aside like garbage.
 
Too late! I am invisible. Watching as they perform.
Clowns! Parading for the young girls.
Meanwhile, these ravishing bodies mock and laugh. 
Heads bowed, touching, whispering.  Exchanging their secrets.
Ridiculing these old men, whose turtle necks and rolling bellies,
Squash in their too tight trousers.
Juggling, like cats in a sack.
 
I silently observe, like a marble sphinx,
Who has the answer to the riddle?
A statue, ice to touch. They don’t see me, 
These ridiculous, worn out ancients.  Whose heads turn,
Impressed by the coy glance, of a nubile maid.
 
Little do they know they too are invisible. 
Oblivious to the revelation in the mirror.
These pliant bodies fool you.
They have no need for these dehydrated carcasses,
With their fetid breath and cat’s eyes glinting.
Desperately pressing the firm flesh,
With duplicitous, avuncular touch.
Hiding lascivious thoughts.
 
I was a rose like them.  Men gripped my thorns.
Soon these young girls, like the rose’s blossoms,
Will be mottled by the black spot.
 
Meanwhile I smile. 
My lines are creases, in a blank page.
You fools!  Life has made you mad.