Poem: Old and Young

I am a thousand years old,
surrounded by children.
Though we all look the same,
speak with similar voices,
attractive and young,
so hip (with my sarcasm),
we all abuse substance.
This has not changed
for as long as my memory,
never an equal
amoung those my age.
Ever with elders,
who better "get" me.
Learning my future
before it comes near.
Never an equal
always the youngest,
who cares,
at least I'm at home.
Pinnocle, Bocce Ball,
Fishing, and Cards.
These are some passtimes
much closer to my soul.
While youngsters (of my age)
have nothing I've known.
Feeling more alien
than lost in Havanna.
Tears want to come,
since I'm not from their world.
Looking the part,
I could not be more removed.
Jelousy, envy,
they don't know what pain is.
I miss the tones of grey.
Miserable self-mumblers,
homeless wrecks,
insanity-plagued prostitutes,
and other hopeless beings.
They make me look good.

Here I am
a flower
amoung flowers.
I have no excuse.