No Man's Land

This is no land for weary old men, I thought.
Let youth stand up tall to face time’s tragic tide.
I’m almost a pensioner, scrawling for sport;
from hell, they call life, I just want to hide.

These dread days of darkness were so long foretold,
bad biblical days writ down on a scroll.
When one loaf of bread will cost more than pure gold
and love will become a sad sickness of soul.

There is no more strength in these worn out old bones
to face tempests issued by high heaven’s hands.
Let youth's paper tigers try standing like stones;
they'll soon become stranded on time's endless sands.