Time gets tougher with age. It’s a shame It’s not wine
Or some pre-potent substance to put all at ease.
But time does not have essence the way that wine does.
It exists in eternal transcendence because
It enhances illusion, as everyone sees
Either deathly disaster or something benign.
I’ll explore the subconscious where I am at home
And in absolute comfort. How I keep in touch
Is through daily reporting on just how I feel.
What I get instantaneously I’ll deem real.
Cheering done in the game world can’t offer me much.
I must score all my touchdowns where I safely roam.
And apart from the drama, I am at its core.
Just a tiny reflection am I on the field.
So can I make a difference in how life plays?
If I can, does it mean I’m entitled to praise?
Only through introspection can my heart be healed.
This work may be of value. I need not know more.