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Ah, Thus I Grow Old

Aging is not only the decline of the body,

but the slow accumulation of fatigue, sorrow, and unspoken longing.

For those living with constant care—both those cared for and those who care—

time can feel heavy, and hope fragile.

This poem gives voice to that quiet struggle,

where resignation and yearning coexist,

and where the heart, though worn, still seeks calm at the end.

 

“Ah, Thus I Grow Old”

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

My eyes grow dim—letters blur beneath a veil of haze.

Sounds fade and weaken, words scatter into the empty air.

My mind no longer clears; thoughts cloud and lose their shape.

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

I wish my heart would not wither, but still be able to feel.

I wish my heart would not dry up, but remain moist with life.

I wish my heart would not grow hoarse, but flow smoothly still.

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

Anger rises often.

Tears come from time to time.

Regret is frequent.

Hesitation is never absent.

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

Warmth is scarce.

Moments of joy are rare.

Peacefulness has faded away.

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

Endurance is all I can manage.

Remembrance is all I am allowed.

Even kindness carries a hidden underside.

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

The flame of life is already short.

My heart no longer flutters.

My body weakens and will not move.

 

Ah, thus I grow old.

Feelings I cannot turn into words remain in my chest.

If there is still hope, what should I wish for?

I want to quiet my heart

and gently fade away.

 

 

The conflict of those exhausted by home care and their families.

The burden of the heart hastens the advance of aging.

 

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