The older we get, the more we worry,
Baffled—our life, nothing but a query.
Emotions heightened in every sense,
Possibilities none, but opportunities immense.
Surrounded by deadlines, united by confusion,
The adulting we dreamt of remains an illusion.
They say, “Work hard for the fruit to be sweet,”
Yet we lay trapped in the moment’s heat.
Planning the future—a nightmare, to say the least,
No longer able to practice whatever we preach.
Time is a luxury, unavailable always,
Saying “We'll handle it” was just a phase.
Yet we carry on, no choice as there is,
A myth it remains—to grow old in bliss.
Struggles show that we are willing to try,
And won’t give this life a boring goodbye.
The Older We Get | Poem
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