The doctor will say I’m sick

Seeing specters from the past.

Enjoying their company while it lasts

Widow’s web holding all that will stick.

Age sweetens the taste

Embellished diamonds in the rough

Stacked against endless, useless stuff.

A Meditative madness state.

It might be insanity.

Lock me away if you must

Until my body and mind are dust

But it’s too rich to leave out of reality.